


The Mark I Bear

by writewithurheart



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU, apparent character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writewithurheart/pseuds/writewithurheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in the world is born with a mark on their skin, a mark that matches only one other person in existence. These two souls are bound together, irrevocably and irreparably bound for all time.</p><p>Felicity Smoak always wondered what it would be like to find her soulmate. She just never expected it to happen quite like this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Soulmate AU no one asked for, but I couldn't resist. I hope you like chapter 1!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geniewithwifi's beta note: “As the beta for this story, and as a huge fan of this fic, i am really sad to see it go. When Nicole started writing this I leapt for joy because BRATVA and SOULMATE COMBINED?!?! It was like Christmas came early. This has been one wild ride and I’m glad I was able to contribute feedback to this wonderful fic. I hope you enjoy what she has to offer. I recommend this fic so hard, I’m seeing stars.

****

**The Mark I Bear**

_Everyone in the world is born with a mark on their skin, a mark that matches only one other person in existence. These two souls are bound together, irrevocably and irreparably bound for all time._

_Tragically, some souls never find their mate and cement their celestial bond. Some die before they ever meet their fated pair. Once a mate dies, the mark is scarred on their partner’s skin, a permanent reminder of what was lost._

_With the onset of technology, databases were constructed with the sole purpose of pairing mates together, even across continents, for those unable or too impatient to find their mates organically. It’s rarer that souls die without meeting their mate, but there are still complications. There are still souls who reject the bond, still souls that meet too soon and aren’t right in that moment, still arguments that can’t be solved, mates that can’t stand each other._

_Finding your soul’s other half doesn’t guarantee happily ever after._

_Some say, it doesn’t even guarantee happiness_

...

“Oh my God! Is that your mark?!”

Felicity winces at the loud, high-pitched voice from behind her, dropping her arms from their futile attempts to grab the last bag of tortilla chips from the highest shelf and yanking her shirt back down to cover the black arrow inked on her left hip.

Slowly, she turns towards the voice, hoping against hope that the shout wasn’t directed at her, but the wide-eyed brunette staring at her confirms her fears. She doesn’t recognize the lanky girl, but she knows the kid with her from his signature red hoodie.

“Hi,” Felicity says slowly, glancing at Roy who simply shrugs in matching bewilderment.

“Is that your mark?” The girl repeats breathlessly, moving forward to grab Felicity’s hand, desperation coloring her voice as her eyes search Felicity’s.

She jerks back. “Yes, but, uh, no offense but you’re not really my type.” And she’s pretty sure Roy has a thing for her.

The girl shakes her head. “No. Roy’s my soulmate. But your mark...it’s not a scar.”

Now Felicity frowns. The offhanded way she mentions Roy tells her that’s not new, but her fascination with Felicity’s mark...”No...it’s not. Why would it be? That only happens when your soulmate dies.”

“So you know your soulmate?” Disappointment fills her voice. Felicity really can’t figure this girl out. It’s like she knows the mark and it somehow inspired hope in her for some reason.

She shakes her head, wondering why she’s even answering this girl’s question, this girl who just accosted her in the middle of the supermarket because Felicity wanted nachos for dinner.

It’s not like she hasn’t tried finding her soulmate. She’s searched all the databases for something – anything – like it. There were a couple similar ones, but none where the shaft of the arrow was composed of a line of computer code, no direct matches. She might have gotten better results if she actually signed up for a database instead of just hacking in. Her mom was always telling her to let it go, and just let life happen. She would meet her soulmate when they were both ready.

Yes, she’s twenty-three and doesn’t need to listen to her mother, but she does like the romantic idea of just running into her soulmate and falling in love.

She’s just a little impatient.

The girl’s face lights up and she jumps up and down squealing. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew he wasn’t dead!”

Felicity’s eyes widen in shock and embarrassment as several customers pause to stare. Comprehension dawns on Roy’s face and his mouth falls open. Felicity decides she needs to take charge of the situation and drops her hands on the girl’s shoulders so she ceases hopping and drawing a crowd of curious shoppers. But the girl is so excited she still practically vibrates happiness.

She should say something to the girl, something to get her to focus, to get her to explain what’s going on, but Felicity’s mind is still reeling in shock. This girl knows her soulmate, knows him well enough to be familiar with his mark, to identify it on someone else.

And she thought he was dead...

Felicity’s really not sure what to do with that.

She waits too long and the girl flings her arms around Felicity, pulling her close before she pulls away with a huge grin on her face. “Mom’s going to be so thrilled!”

“Whoa! Slow down,” Felicity finally manages as the girl tries to pull her down the aisle with a surprising amount of strength for her size. “I don’t even know your name and, no offense, but I don’t really go places with complete strangers, even if they claim to recognize my mark. Not that I don’t believe you, but I could be a serial killer for all you know. I mean, I’m not, but I could be.” She glances around, panicking at the attention and her unintentional ramble. “I should go.”

Ignoring Roy and his soulmate calling after her, she abandons her cart of groceries to race from the store, back to her red mini cooper. Five minutes of calming breaths later, she finally manages to fit the key into the ignition to drive away.

The silence in her apartment rings in her ears as she troops back in, not bothering with the lights and wishing she had at least taken the time to grab her nacho ingredients. She drops to the couch, wondering what is going on with her.

Did it even make sense to run away from the girl who knew her soulmate?

Then again, the girl could be certifiably insane.

Nope. She’s pretty sure she’s the crazy one. She ran away for God’s sake! Who does that? Who runs away from the chance to find her soulmate?

Her, apparently. She could win awards for that particular performance.

She sighs and drags herself off the couch goes through her nightly routine, making the last can of soup from her cabinet since she failed in her quest for nachos. Her mind’s still spinning a mile a minute even until she crashes, unable to keep reliving the moments in the grocery store from every different angle.

She collapses into bed, part of her almost wishing it was all a dream.

...

“Smoak! What the hell have you done?”

Felicity flinches at her supervisor’s scream from down the hall, knowing he just found the unauthorized changes she made to the company firewalls, but in her defense, the original was a piece of crap. She only made a couple minor adjustments. She should be getting a promotion for her work, but somehow she doesn’t think that will be happening.

She stands and straightens her black pencil skirt before stepping into the hallway to face the beet red face of Mr. Foster, her so-called supervisor, who wouldn’t know a brilliant idea if it hit him in the face with a week old fish.

“Smoak! You accessed the firewall and changed the components! You left the company vulnerable to cyber attack. You’ve threatened the integrity of the entire computer system. Do you know the trouble you’ve caused?! You blacked me from the system! Me! This is completely unacceptable! Pack your things! You’re fired!”

“Fired? _Fired?_ _You’re_ firing _me_?” She laughs and she knows she sounds unhinged, but she can’t let this injustice stand. “Please! This place would fall apart! That so-called firewall wasn’t keeping anyone out. I patched the holes after stopping two _separate_ attacks. Maybe you need to step up your own work. Your web security is crap. I’d say it’s a miracle no one’s broken in yet, but they have. I just caught them this time.”

Disrespect! Insubordination! You won’t be getting a reference or severance pay from Queen Consolidated! You’ll be lucky to get a job flipping burgers! Maureen, call security to escort Ms. Smoak from the building!”

She scowls. “No need. I can escort myself out. Good luck without me.” She grabs her personal tablet and purse, undoing all her work on the QC mainframe with a minute of rapid clacking on the keyboard. “You’ll be fired in a week,” she declares to Foster and all the other IT grunts gathering to watch the show.

“Security!” Foster’s face is now a mottled purple.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Foster.”

Felicity watches Foster deflate at the voice behind her, eyes widening in shock.

“M-m-mrs. Queen! How can I help you?”

She pales and turns to face the blonde woman she’s only seen on news feeds. She’s smaller in person, which is equally intimidating and ridiculous as she stares them down with a gaze that can only be called regal.

Felicity feels a bizarre urge to laugh at her own pun.

Moira Queen’s gaze shifts to Felicity and the urge disappears, even as the other woman smiles. “I’m actually here to see Miss Smoak.”

She blinks in shock, looking around like she expects to find her mother right there too because Moira Queen can’t be talking to her. She’s just an IT nobody.

“Smoak?” Foster repeats brokenly, like he can’t believe his luck is really so bad to have just fired the woman the boss wants to talk to. He really doesn’t have the best of luck.

“Yes,” Moira repeats, a layer of ice now coating her voice. Her hands cross primly in front of her as she takes a step forward. It makes her look more terrifying, something Felicity didn’t really think was possible. “Miss Smoak, I think we should talk in my office.”

She nods, unable to speak as her heart finds a new home in her throat. Meekly, she follows the executive into the elevator. As the elevator climbs, she glues her lips together to stop the babble threatening to spill out any second.

“Mr. Foster already fired me.” And it just spills out anyway because of course it does. She cringes, but the words have already started flowing. “So you don’t have to take me all the way up to your office. _Not_ that you should fire me. You really shouldn’t actually. I’m the single best person on your tech floor and that’s including my ‘supervisor.’ And that’s not bragging. It’s the truth. Just as MIT. Well, you can’t ask because it’s a school, but you know what I mean...do you? Know what I mean? Oh, god. I’m babbling. And I’ll just stop. Now. In 3...2...1...”

Oh, she’s soooooo fired.

Moira raises an eyebrow before turning and exiting the elevator. Felicity scurries after her, past the curious secretary and into the large office. Moira gestures her to the couch instead of the impressive desk across the room.

“I understand you met my daughter the other night, Miss Smoak.”

She blinks rapidly, wondering what’s happening right now and when she’s going to wake up. Then it hits her. The girl from the supermarket. That was Thea Queen...

“She told me an interesting story about your mark. May I see it?”

“My...mark?” Felicity repeats slowly, trying to wrap her head around what’s happening and coming up blank. Why is everyone suddenly so fascinated with her mark?

And by everyone she means the Queen women.

“Yes, Miss Smoak, your mark.” 

“Umm...” She shifts nervously. She doesn’t usually show people her mark. It always feels like she’s baring a part of her soul when it’s visible. She doesn’t even wear crop tops or bikinis. Everyone’s just too fascinated when they see the marks on someone else. They want to know all about you: have you met your soulmate yet? What does the mark mean? Do you think you’re a little old not to have met your mate?

“No offense, Mrs. Queen...Steele? Queen-Steele? Do you hyphenate? You seem like the kind of person who would hyphenate.” She grimaces as she realizes how off-track she’s gotten. “My point is that it’s a private thing. I don’t show it to anyone.”

Moira sighs, nodding in agreement. “I understand.” She stands, brushing off her skirt as she walks to the desk. “I would have preferred not to do this, but Thea was quite sure.” She pulls something from the desk and returns to the sofa holding a small square. With a deep breath, she holds out the paper, eyes fixed on Felicity’s face for her reaction.

Felicity reaches out slowly, breaking eye contact only once her fingers connect with the glossy side of the photo. 

Gently, she takes the photo, her mouth falling open as she realizes what she’s staring at. Moira’s imposing presence disappears into the background as all she can see is her mark staring back up at her from the photo. 

In awe, she runs her fingers lightly over the inky arrow and its computer code that matches hers down to the last 0.  It looks just like a photo from one of the soulmate databases. Her breath catches. She didn’t even realize how much she’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to see mark somewhere other than inked onto her own skin.

She lifts her eyes back to Moira. “Where...?” She can’t get the rest of the words out.

“That photo’s from four years ago, right before my son was lost at sea. Robert and I wanted Oliver to clean up his life, to find his soulmate. We investigated discreetly, but there was no match on any soulmate database. When Thea told me your mark matched, I looked into it. You’re not registered on any database.”

Felicity nods automatically. It’s true.

“So you’ll understand our interest in finding out if your mark matches, especially if it hasn’t scarred.”

Her breath catches in her throat as Felicity realizes exactly what Moira’s telling her. Her son – the missing Queen scion, _Oliver Queen_ – is _her_ soulmate. Her mark is black, which means Oliver Queen is alive.

 _Oliver Queen is alive._  

In a daze, she rises to her feet and pulls her blouse from her pencil skirt to expose her side and the mark hidden underneath, jumping when Moira’s cool fingers brush her skin. It still stands out in stark contrast to her milky skin. Over the past couple years – the past four years really, now that she thinks about it – the mark will occasionally ache, but it’s never turned into the telltale scar, never faded and lost it’s ink.

Moira pulls back, resting a hand over her heart, tears well in her eyes. “It’s true,” she whispers before she manages to pull herself back together.

Felicity gives her a moment as she tucks her shirt back in, feeling self-conscious as she lowers herself back into the couch. Her eyes are drawn back to the picture of Oliver’s mark, her fingers outlining the photo again without conscious thought.

“You never joined a database, Miss Smoak. Why not?”

She starts, eyes darting back to Moira. “Oh, um. My mom. She’s a romantic. She wanted me to find him the old-fashioned way, and I just never saw the point.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m good with computers, so I managed to...find my way into one of the databanks in college. Since I didn’t find a match, I figured I’d just let it happen naturally. I didn’t think it would be anything like this.”

“I only ask, because the private investigator we hired was unable to find _any_ pictures of your mark. And we hired the best.” Her voice is cool, wary, and Felicity supposes she has the right to be considering her case is highly unusual.

“Um, that would be me. I don’t like showing it off and I took down any pictures online that there might have been my freshman year of college. I’m sure my mom has some pictures from when I was younger. Oh, God, my mom! Wait until she heard about this!” Then she groans. Donna’s going to hop on the next plane to celebrate.

That’s just what she needs: her mother squealing at the prospect and embarrassing her further.

“Actually, we’re going to need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement, Miss Smoak.” Moira’s walking back to her desk to pick up a blue folder. “We don’t want this to be public knowledge as we resume the search for my son now that we have proof of life. Are we clear?”

“I won’t tell anyone, Mrs. Queen.” Felicity nods, reading the agreement.

“Moira,” she corrects. “And by anyone, I also mean your mother, unless you think she can keep this to herself.”

Felicity opens her mouth to object and then realizes her mother would delight in telling everyone she knows. She winces at the thought. “So, no telling my mother then.”

Not seeing any obvious loopholes in the agreement, Felicity scribbles her name at the bottom. If she violated the deal, her employment would be terminated. That was, of course, assuming she wasn’t actually fired right now...

She hands the folder back and Moira smiles, sitting back down on the couch. “Excellent. Now...why did Mr. Foster fire you?”

...

Head of IT and Cyber Security.

Felicity draws in a shaky breath as she stares at the open bottle of wine on her coffee table without seeing it, slowly drinking from her glass. This – this being her whole day – wasn’t something she could have possibly dreamed would happen when she walked out the door this morning. Her talk with Moira had turned into a meeting with Foster, the head of security and the director of Applied Sciences.

She takes another slow sip of wine as she continues to process the afternoon’s events. She never could have anticipated the results: Foster was demoted, she was promoted, and Eddie Raymond, Head of Applied Sciences wanted her to create the programming for their latest device. He even tried to convince Moira to move her to Applied Sciences.

And all this because Thea Queen saw her mark in the grocery store.

What is her life turning into?

Next to her, her phone starts ringing and Felicity blindly grabs it.

“Hello?”

“Lis? Where are you? I thought we were meeting up for drinks tonight.”

She blinks and twists to get a look at the time on her microwave. “Right. Sorry, Mels. It’s been a crazy day and it slipped my mind.”

“Crazy? Like a gallon-of-mint-chip-ice-cream crazy?”

Felicity’s eyes find the half-empty bottle of wine again. “No. It’s more like a I’m-going-to-drink-a-whole-bottle-of-wine crazy. Although, I could use ice cream now that you mention it.”

“Give me twenty minutes. I’ll bring the ice cream and another bottle.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Felicity sighs, tossing the phone to the other side of the couch after exchanging goodbyes. She flips on Netflix and grabs another glass and a couple spoons in preparation for Mel’s appearance.

Of course, she can’t tell Mellie all of it, but she can talk about the promotion.

_Knock knockknock Knock._

Felicity grins and swings open her door only to frown as she comes face to face with the brunette she knows to be Thea Queen and Roy Harper. She leans against the door and squints at them.

“What are you two doing here?”

Thea grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Hi! We didn’t really get to the introductions last night. Hi! I’m Thea Queen! And you’re Felicity Smoak, my brother’s soulmate!”

Felicity’s mouth falls open and she throws a glance in Roy’s direction. She only catches a glimpse of Roy’s amused smile before she’s thrown off center by an attack hug from Thea.

“Ooof!” Thanks to the wine, she’s a little off balance and would have fallen on her ass if she hadn’t hit the wall first.

“We’re practically family.”

Bewildered, Felicity pats Thea on the back, widened eyes finding Roy as he tries to hold back laughter.

“Um, okay...Thea?”

“Mm-hmm?” Thea hums, arms still bands of iron around Felicity’s midsection.

“Can you let go? It’s getting hard to breathe.”

“Oh! Sorry.” She pulls back, looking chagrined, but the mood passes quickly and the heiress starts wandering around the apartment. “So this is where you live? Cozy!”

She turns to Roy to ask what they’re doing here, but he just shrugs.

“Don’t fight it, Blondie. Thea’s a force of nature.”

Felicity sighs. “Then I guess you should come in, too.”

“Thank you!” He grins and saunters in, dropping onto the couch like he owns the place. “So, this is what you do on a Friday night? Netflix and wine?”

“Actually, I was meeting up with my friend, Mellie, but I had a bit of a crazy day and I forgot.” And now two teenagers are making her feel pathetic about her lack of a social life. “I don’t know if you two heard, but I found out who my soulmate was, got fired, then promoted, and then there was a whole lot of talk about my future and finding said soulmate who happens to be missing for the last four years. It’s been a weird day from another world. And this,” she gestures to the Netflix and the glass of wine that she’s picks up again, “is how I process.”

_Knock Knock knockknock Knock._

Felicity groans because _of course_ everything in her life no longer fits into neat little boxes. No, now everything’s exploding into swirling bit of chaos covered in sparkles. Yes, sparkles because nothing is actually terrible. It’s just a lot of things at once and maybe she’s had more to drink than she thought.

“Lis! You better not be so drunk you can’t open the door!”

She swings the door open, well aware that she’s scowling and holding a half-full glass of wine.

“Whoa! Must have been some day,” Mel comments, brushing past her into the room only to stop short after three steps as she notices the room’s other occupants. “Oh. Hello...” She turns back to Felicity. “You better not be replacing me, Smoak.”

“Nope. All these people just keep showing up to my apartment.” She falls into the couch taking a large gulp of fruity wine. “I would be content with just my wine and three seasons of Warehouse 13.”

“You’re such a nerd, Lis. Warehouse 13? Really?” Mellie frowns, hands on her hips, clearly accentuating her figure even more than the skin-tight silver dress naturally did. Mel was definitely dressed for clubbing and Felicity bailed on her.

“Yes, really. Claudia’s sass gives me life.” Felicity sits up enough to grab the mint chip ice cream and one of the spoons she placed on the table.

“So, Lis, going to be a dear and introduce me to your guests?”

She sighs. “Mellie, That’s Roy and his vibrant other half, Thea. Thea, Roy, meet Mellie. My best friend since...forever. You know, you guys should combine your names into something easier to say, like Rhea. No...that’s stupid. How about Thoy. No. Theroy!! That’s it! Theroy! Done.”

Roy glares at her. “No.”

Thea just cackles. “You start using it and I’ll do the same for you.”

“Ah, but Lis hasn’t met her soulmate yet,” Mellie contributes, sitting on the coffee table and pouring herself a glass of wine. “Plus, she’s tipsy, which makes her internal filter worse than it usually is, which is really saying something, so you can’t hold it against her.”

“Well, she’s making a better impression than when we met,” Thea declares brightly as she snags the extra spoon from the table and takes a scoop from Felicity, receiving a glare in return.

“Hey! You ambushed me in the grocery store!”

“And you babbled at me and then ran away.” Thea steals her glass for a sip of wine before Felicity swats her away.

“Your mom’s going to kill me if she knows I let you drink.”

“Please! She lets me have wine with dinner all the time. She’s not going to mind,” Thea says around another bite of ice cream. “She’ll be happy we’re getting to know each other.”

“You met at a grocery store?” Mellie asks, eyes darting around.

“Well, Roy lives close to here so I already knew him. But I just met Thea a couple days ago.” She just stops there because anything else leads to her soulmate and she can’t talk about that.

“At the grocery store,” Mellie repeats, frowning at the blonde.

“Yup!” Felicity smiles, trying not to look guilty, but her friend knows her too well. But she can’t do this. She can’t say what’s been going on because of that damn contract, even though she knows Mellie wouldn’t tell anyone.

“I saw her soulmark,” Thea explains as she props her feet on the coffee table.

Mellie raises an eyebrow at that. “Really?”

Thea nods solemnly. 

Felicity rolls her eyes and takes another sip of wine, avoiding Mellie’s gaze so her best friend can’t read the emotions on her face.

“At the grocery store?” Mellie qualifies yet again. Then she gasps and Felicity’s efforts to avoid her gaze fail as she recognizes the ‘Ah-ha’ sound for that it is: the moment her best friend connects the dots. “You know who her soulmate is! So that’s why you’re binging on wine and ice cream! You bitch! Why didn’t you tell me!?”

Felicity flinches as Mellie slaps at her arm. “Ow! I couldn’t. I signed the paper thing...the non-dishc...non-dischh...non-discloshurr agreement.”

“Seriously?!” Thea and Mellie shout simultaneously.

Her eyes dart back and forth between the two before she nods.

Thea rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath what sounds like, “of course she would.”

Mellie’s not done though: “YOU MET YOUR SOULMATE AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!!! THAT’S INEXCUSABLE! I DON’T CARE IF A NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT WAS SIGNED! AND WHY WOULD YOU SIGN ONE OF THOSE ANYWAY!!!”

“Stop yelling,” Felicity whines and then chuckles because she’s whining while pleasantly buzzed on wine.

Mellie huffs.

“Plus, technically, I haven’t met him.” She smiles triumphantly at her loophole and points to Thea. “Right, Speedy Gonzales?”

Thea pauses, her spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. “Wha...Why did you call me that?”

Felicity shrugs. “You move fast. I met you two days ago and now you’re bursting into my apartment. I can barely keep up with you. And not just because I’m not sober right now.” She frowns. “Do you not like it? I could come up with another name. That’s just what my mom used to call me that when I was younger and talking a mile a minute –“

Her words get caught in her throat as Thea flings herself into Felicity’s arms. Felicity swears she feels wet tears on his shoulder and she starts rubbing soothing circle’s into the girl’s back.

“Thea? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

The brunette pulls back, wiping tears from her eyes as she smiles sadly. “It’s just...Ollie used to call me Speedy.”

Felicity smiles sadly and pulls Thea back into a hug, her heart bonding with the girl for the sake of her loss. Unintentionally, she apparently became a physical representation of Thea’s hopes for her brother. She’s a symbol to the Queens and that’s scary in it’s own right, forget about all her doubts regarding actually meeting the missing Oliver Queen.

“I can come up with something else,” she whispers, catching the understanding that lights Mellie’s eyes.

“No. It fits. It’s perfect.” Thea squeezes her again and pulls back. “I mean, it’s fate, right?”

“Oh my god!” Mellie gasps, eyes darting between Thea and Felicity. “Your soulmate is Oliver Queen!”

Felicity grimaces, but as Thea’s already nodding she doesn’t have much time to come up with a plausible denial. And she watches the final piece click into place for Mellie as it dawns on her.

“Oliver Queen is alive.” Mellie sits back, stumped at the revelation. Instead of going for a glass of wine, she grabs the bottle and downs a healthy swallow. “No wonder why you’re drinking.”

...

The resumed search for Oliver Queen hits the news circuits two months later, along with flagrant speculation as to ‘why now?’. A couple stations even guess correctly that it has to do with his soulmate, although that’s still a closely guarded secret.

Felicity’s new job keeps her occupied, but her old cloak of anonymity is discarded in light of her promotion. Between her and Moira, they had convinced Thea not to visit Felicity at work, but she was spending more time with Thea, the girl demanding her time under the argument that they were basically family.

Shopping sprees, spa days, movie nights: it all translated to bonding for Thea and only Moira’s desire for secrecy managed to curb some of her enthusiasm. Still, Felicity found herself being pulled further and further into the Queens’ lives.  She, quite accidentally, became friends with Tommy Merlyn when they had to reign in Thea’s match-making tendencies in regards to finding Tommy’s soulmate.

It turns out he already knew.

Despite everything working out fine – more than fine, it was perfect, really – Felicity was still unsure how she felt about the whole Oliver-Queen-was-her-soulmate thing. Sure, Thea and Tommy were amazing. Moira had even warmed up to her at the weekly family dinners she was now invited to. But Oliver...

Felicity firmly believed in choice and free will. Yes, she wanted to meet her soulmate, her other half, but it felt a bit skeezy that she was bonding with his family and friends when she hadn’t even met her mate yet.

What if he was as bad as the tabloids made him sound? What if he hated her? What if she couldn’t stand him? What if he tried to just use her for sex?

With her luck she would be the only person in the history of the world to have accidentally been given the wrong soulmark.

Whenever Thea talks excitedly about her meeting Oliver, Felicity feels like the biggest fraud to ever walk the earth. Mellie brushes it off, calling it nerves, but she’s genuinely worried. She doesn’t know how she’d react if she came face to face with her soulmate now. She knows so much about him and he’s going to be completely and utterly blindsided when he gets back.

She would hate to have that situation reversed.

...

Felicity’s at a family dinner when it happens.

All of a sudden, her goes cold, like liquid nitrogen was applied to the skin. The scream escapes her lips as the area starts to burn. Every head jerks to her. She ignores them, pushing away from the table and rushing down the hall to the powder room.

Her heart beats too fast in her chest and she can’t draw a breath.

Desperately, she yanks her shirt up, twisting to get a look at the painful spot in the mirror. She blinks tears from the corners of her eyes as she lifts her fingers gingerly to probe the mark.

A hiss escapes her as it burns under her fingers.

She bites her lip against the pain and pulls her hand away, letting the shirt drop as she struggles to center herself and calm her breathing.

A fist pounds on the wooden door of the bathroom and Felicity winces at the noise. The words that follow are unintelligible as another wave of pain renders her unable to stand. With a sob, she collapses to the cool tile, tears leaking as she clutches at her side.

Is this what it feels like? When your soulmate dies?

She’s heard stories about how the moment sears itself into your soul and your skin, but she never imagined it would feel this terrible.

Another wave of pain crashes into her and she black out.

...

_The room is damp and dingy. There’s definitely a leak dripping from one of the overhead pipes and the chill permeating the air is enough to numb bones. Labored breaths fog the air._

_“Curious thing, this poison. It doesn’t kill a person or increase your pain or anything of that nature. No, instead for thirty minutes it fuses soulmates together.”_

_He stiffens at the man’s words as he comes back into view. The man wears a coat and fur hat, but his hands are bare and covered in blood. His sinister smile insights another thrill of fear down his spine._

_Then he processes the words and terror takes over everything._

_“Yes...that’s right. You endured all that torture and now your soulmate is feeling all this pain. You may have damaged it beyond recognition, but I assure you this little poison works just the same.” The man flicks open a knife. Compared to everything else done to his body – the beatings, the blowtorch, the waterboarding – the knife is nothing, but knowing that someone else will feel the same pain, will be forced to live the moments with him...it’s too much. “Now...how about we try again?”_

_He grunts as the knife penetrates his leg, not close enough to an artery to be fatal, but definitely painful. He hates to think that someone innocent is suffering just because they had the misfortune of being bound to him._

_“Who did you contact?” The man leans in close and leers. “The next thing to go is your knee. Your mate, probably a pretty girl, right? Well, I bet this isn’t going to pleasant, so why don’t you just answer the question. Who did you contact?”_

_He gasps as the man twists the knife, gritting his teeth against pain. But he forces out an answer for the sake of the poor girl. “I didn’t contact anyone.”_

_Then again, this man could be lying, but the side where his marred mark sits throbs with pain, an almost constant burn. It’s enough to convince him that something’s happening._

_“Then how come, they’re searching for you, Mr. Queen?” The knife twists a little further._

_“I. Don’t. Know.” Oliver grits out, ignoring the idea that pops into his head: If they found his soulmate, they would know he was alive._

_The man steps back, pulls a gun from the depths of his jacket, and shoots his knee cap without a hint of hesitation._

_He can’t hold back an anguished scream as he thrashes against the ropes still tying him to the chair. He was so close to breaking the knot and fighting his way out of here._

_“How do they know to search for you, Mr. Queen?”_

_He fumbles with the knot, freeing hands as stealthily as possible while the man levels his gun at Oliver’s other knee._

_“Last chance-“_

_He moves, grabbing the gun and shooting the man in the leg. He hops on his one working leg and knocks the man out with a solid twack to the back of his neck with the gun. Straightening, he twists to the door, ready to face the guard or whoever’s waiting._

_Oliver quickly checks the gun before hobbling towards his escape. They’re looking for him. It should be easy enough to find someone who recognizes him to send him home, even if he is in Russia._

_God forbid, their potion actually works and they hurt his soulmate._

_He shakes his head. She should be the last thing on his mind. He used to rest his hand on the mark for hope and warmth on the coldest nights on the Island. He still did, even years after he seared away the mark with a superheated blade._

_The room opens into a hallway and he stumbles out into the bright sun of a busy Russian street. Slowly, he crawls down the street until he recognizes a store and changes course. Three blocks later he collapses in a snowbank, unable to walk another step._

...

“Lis? Lis? Can you hear me?”

She blinks against the bright light and then sits straight up, gasping for air as the mild echoes of pain still pulse in her right leg. She runs her hand over the unblemished skin of her upper leg before her mouth falls open.

She chokes on her dry throat and Thea holds out a cup of water, positioning the straw so she can drink easily.

Felicity takes a long sip, mind spinning through the dream she just had.

No. It was too real to be a dream. Something had to have actually happened.

She spits the straw out of her mouth and turns to Thea, barely registering that she’s been moved to the Queen’s sitting room, surrounded by worried and anxious faces.

“Russia. He’s in Russia.” She frowns. “Moscow, I think! He’s hurt...in a snowbank...on some street I can’t pronounce. You have to send someone.”

“Felicity, calm down. You passed out in the bathroom. We called for a doctor-“

“No!” She shouts, cutting Moira off in her desperation. She takes a deep breath and speaks slower. “No. You have to listen to me. I saw Oliver. He was being tortured, in Russia. He got stabbed in the leg and then shot in the knee. He got away, but he needs help. You have to send someone!”

Moira glances at Walter, but nods. “I’ll put someone on it. But we should get you checked out.”

She nods slowly, rubbing at her leg. The pain hasn’t lessened but there’s no blood or torn skin. It throbs in time with her heartbeat.

“Are you okay, Lis?” Thea ask softly, grasping her hand.

She shifts uncomfortably, her mind still with that snowbank in Russia.

“I will be.”

...

Three days later, they still haven’t found him.

Felicity’s knee and leg still pulse with pain, but she’s pushed it aside to do what she does best. Moira seems skeptical about the Russia connection, so she’s taking matters into her own hands.

Her fingers fly across the keyboard at her work desk where the hovering worrywarts can’t follow her. It hasn’t stopped Tommy, Thea, and Mellie from constantly checking in. Even though the doctor gave her a clean bill of health, there’s no explanation for what she saw while she was blacked out. She hadn’t dared to tell the whole story at the risk of sounding insane. She just told enough to convince them to look for Oliver in Russia.

Moira’s private investigators and reward still hadn’t managed to find him and Felicity was getting anxious.

The constant pulse of pain put her on edge, desperate to find him, wherever he might be. Every moment felt like an eternity as she wondered if the mark would suddenly burn again and scar over.

That’s why she had decided to go to work. She needed to do something to take her mind off the waiting. Thea was barely leaving her alone, just as anxious as Felicity to find her brother. Mellie was understandably worried about her sanity. The only person she managed to get to back off was Tommy, but that was only because he insisted on having lunch with her and possibly dinner until they found Oliver.

Not that she was doing much in the way of official work. She got most of her work done within an hour this morning. Since then she’s been sifting through Russian police stations and hospitals. Translating the Russian was slowing her down more than she anticipated. 

Scowling, she tried to rework the translation matrix only to be interrupted by a knock on her door.  

“Miss Smoak?”

She takes a deep breath and smooths out her face, burying her hunger under a pleasant smile. “Yes. How can I help you?”

The woman’s dressed in a pantsuit that she manages to pull off, but her posture is more rigid than most of the people Felicity sees on a normal day of work. Her long brown hair falls down to frame her face and she smiles politely. “My name is Lyla Michaels, and I need you to come with me.”

Felicity frowns. “Is there an issue? I wasn’t given any urgent assignments.” She picks up her phone to see if she got a text, but it’s still clear. “I can send someone up to take a look at your computer, but I’m swamped here. What’s your office number?”

“You misunderstand, Miss Smoak. I don’t work for Queen Consolidated.”

Her eyes narrow, locking onto the woman. “I don’t understand.” Her hand lingers on her phone in case she needs to do some quick dialing.

“I work for the government. And I need you to come with me, Miss Smoak. It’s been cleared with your superiors.”

Felicity purses her lips. “If it was, I would have been informed. Do you mind waiting while I verify that?”

She already has Moira’s number queued up on her phone so she just presses the button.

_No Signal_

Felicity frowns at the icon, but reaches for the landline on the desk instead. Lyla’s warm hand lands on hers, trapping the phone in the cradle.

“I can’t let you do that.”

Panic sends her heart racing as Felicity tries to yank her hand away.

“I’m sorry.” Lyla as she pulls something from her back pocket.

Felicity feels a prick, but yanks her hand back and starts for the door. She barely makes it two steps before her limbs start to feel like lead and she collapses on the floor, blacking out for the second time this week.

 

...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **unless otherwise written, events in the past occurred as seen on the tv show** 
> 
> I hope you like chapter 2!

**Chapter 2**

**Oliver**

He wakes up in a hospital bed, slowly coming to consciousness to the sterile smell of the room. The only light comes from the hall and the steady beep of the heart monitor verifies he’s alive. He must be on some pretty significant painkillers, because he can’t feel the pain that must be in his leg.

Oliver shifts, feeling the wires attached to his body, but not disconnecting them as he sits up, eyes stopping on a looming figure in an arm chair by the door. It’s not an accident that the figure manages to stay cloaked in shadow.

He falls back on the pillow with a groan. “I didn’t contact anyone, I swear. I don’t know how they know.”

The figure chuckles darkly, leaning forward. “I think we both know what happened.”

Oliver lifts a hand to run through his hair. They’re both thinking the same thing. “They found her.”

The other man nods, moving to the edge of his chair, a stern face coming into focus. “A couple months ago.”

Oliver grimaces at the realization. “A year undercover in Russia down the drain because they managed to track down my soulmate. I didn’t think they would keep looking after I died.” He turns to the other man. “I thought you were keeping an eye on them.”

“They stopped.” The man sighs, like the years are getting too much for him even though he’s only ten years older than Oliver. “Thea found her in a grocery store, of all places. And the search wasn’t full scale, so all I did was tell Lyla.” He runs a hand over his jaw, undoubtedly running through everything in his mind, trying to figure out where it went wrong. “The news was made public and Lyla was going to pull you out when they took you.”

Oliver nods, knowing they had his back after the past year. They managed to get him out of some bad situations. He trusts them. “So how’d you get to Russia?” Lyla’s supposed to be the one in Russia, so him being here...something big happened.

“Your girl. She passed out in the bathroom screaming and when she came to she said you were in Russia. I volunteered to look into it.”

Oliver pales. “When was that?”

“Three days ago. I’m guessing about the time you got those injuries.”

Strings of curses come out his mouth in whatever language comes to him first. So the Russian had been telling the truth after all. “How is she?”

“Physically, she’s fine, but whatever happened has her freaked out. Lyla’s bringing her in.”

Oliver closes his eyes, but he knows better than to wish this isn’t happening. If that worked, he would have been home years ago. So he just takes a deep breath and faces the shadow once more.

“So what happens now?” Oliver asks. “What do we do, Digg?”

John Diggle stands slowly. “What we have to: We bring you home.”

...

**_About Four Years Ago, Lian Yu_ **

_A little over a month. That’s how long it took for him to get caught by the masked men running around the island. Not that he really knew they were there._

_He thought it was just him and Yao Fei._

_Actually, he thought Yao Fei was going kill him long before now, probably about the time he shot him in the shoulder._

_But no, this is how he dies: tied up and tortured for hours._

_Giving up Yao Fei never crosses his mind as an option. He won’t give up the man who saved his life._

_Besides, this feels right. He should have died when that boat went down with Sara. He should have died in the lifeboat with his father. He should have died as soon as he reached the Island. He’s been fighting against time since the Gambit sank. It’s just finally catching up now._

_Another scream rips from his throat as the blade bites into his arm. Blood leaks from his body to drop on the thirsty ground. It’s vibrant and red, the only thing about him that stands out after all this time._

_A month ago, he thought there would be a rescue. He thought he would wake up safe in his bed. He thought it could all be just a terrible dream._

_The pain reminds him that it isn’t._

_..._

**_About Three Years and Six Months Ago, Lian Yu_ **

_“You should get rid of that mark, kid.”_

_He shoots a glare sideways at the hulking Australian from his cot in the corner, dropping his hand from where it rested against his mark. The motion always soothed him. He couldn’t imagine intentionally doing anything to change that spot which represented his other half. He had never put much stock in what it represented: his soulmate._

_Oliver never bought into the concept that two people were fated to be together. His parents had never been faithful and he had certainly carried on that tradition. There were plenty of his friends who fooled around, swearing they would settle down once they found “the one”. Even his parents assumed that would happen. He knows they started looking for her._

_In all honesty, he knew he was expected to spend the rest of his life with the woman with the matching mark. But he also knew he would end up in a similar situation to his parents. They were together for appearances, but the perfect power couple. They found solace in other people, people with different marks._

_Then Laurel started talking about moving in together. She never talked about her mark or her soulmate, but they both knew their marks didn’t match. The heart and gavel on her hip hadn’t held even a passing similarity to his arrow, and she hadn’t cared._

_There was one afternoon where she had gone on about how marks didn’t really matter anymore because plenty of soulmates never married or their soulmates died and they married someone else._

_He hadn’t taken her hints at marriage any more seriously than the rest of it. Everyone knew the only reason to not settle down with your soulmate would be if they died and your mark scarred over. Not that he wouldn’t be willing to continue their sexual relationship._

_It was only on the island that the mark came to mean more to him. On the cold, rainy nights he could almost feel warmth and comfort radiating from the mark. It gives him hope that he’ll find her one day._

_“It’s better that way,” Slade continues. “Then they can’t get to you through her.”_

_“Well, I don’t even know who she is, so it’s not like that will make a difference.”_

_Slade chuckles. “You think that now, kid, but if they have your other half, you’ll do anything to save her.”_

_“Speaking from experience?” Oliver almost hopes he is. Slade’s stuck up and growly, always calling him useless. It might be true, but Oliver’s trying. He’s trying harder than he ever has for anything else in his life. Slade just never thinks it’s enough._

_“What makes you think I’ve met my soulmate yet?”_

_“You were married. You had a kid.” Everyone he knows only does that once they’ve met their mate._

_Slade laughs loudly. “Not everyone’s that lucky, kid. The rest of the world isn’t as dependent on their soulmate databases as the United States. Sometimes you find someone you love before you meet your other half. You don’t let it stop your life.”_

_He frowns. “Really?”_

_“You dense, kid? This isn’t a perfect world where everyone finds their soulmate. Some of us can’t afford it. And when you love someone, it doesn’t matter.”_

_“But isn’t the point of soulmate that you meet eventually?”_

_“Life isn’t all flowers and sunshine.”_

_Oliver snorts. “You don’t need to tell me that.”_

_Slade huffs and turns away on his own cot, staring up at the stars through the hole in the ceiling of the downed plane. “The best thing you can do is destroy that mark.”_

_Oliver twists away from the other man, curling into the threadbare blanket, attempting not to even consider the idea. It offers him comfort, so of course he’s going to keep it. He doesn’t care about his soulmate, that this is his connection to his other half. Right?_

_So why does it matter so much that he keeps it?_

_..._

**_Three Years and Four Months, Lian Yu_ **

_“Your mark. It’s an arrow?”_

_Oliver lowers the bow at Shado’s question, adjusting his ragged shirt to cover his side again. He wondered if it was her when they met because her soulful eyes took his breath away, but he had seen her mark on her forearm when she had him slapping the bowl of water._

_He knows what she’s wondering: she wants to know if his arrow also comes with an eyepatch, if he’s her match. The answer is no, of course. His arrow is made of a series of unknown numbers he doesn’t understand, but knows it has something to do with his other half and it’s not Shado._

_“Oliver.”_

_Sighing, he faces her, lowering the weapon he’s just learning to use. He’d be lying if he said the mark wasn’t a big part in convincing him that this was the weapon he needed to learn. It felt a hell of a lot better in his hands than Slade’s fighting sticks ever did._

_“Can I see it?” Shado asks, her voice hesitant, her hand reaching out haltingly for the hem of his t-shirt._

_He doesn’t move, just lets her lift the fabric to get a look at the mark. He can feel her disappointment, but she doesn’t drop the shirt yet. Instead, she runs her fingers lightly over the skin. It takes all of Oliver’s limited control not to jerk away at the contact._

_“Have you met her yet?”_

_He shakes his head, letting his eyes land on her forearm and the inky mark there. He realizes how close they’re standing and how much he wants to kiss her. It’s only the fact that they’re talking about soulmates that stops him, which is a testament to how much the last year has changed him._

_“Me neither,” Shado whispers, stepping back and rubbing comforting circles around her own mark._

_Oliver takes a step back, giving himself necessary distance before his control deserts him and he tries to kiss her. Because chances are, they’re not getting off this island or finding their soulmates. It’s been a while._

_She just coughs though and shakes her head._

_He takes aim again and shoots._

_They never bring up soulmates again._

_..._

_“You’re playing with fire, kid.”_

_Oliver glares at Slade, but doesn’t bother asking what the other man means. Shado kissed him today, and for the first time he’s actually concerned about the whole soulmate thing. He knows why she did it: she thinks they’re going to die here and her soulmate will wake up one morning with a scar where his mark used to be._

_He doesn’t feel good about it. He doesn’t need Slade to tell him that was a risky move, but Oliver’s never been able to resist a beautiful woman, especially one who wants to kiss him._

_If he’s being honest with himself, Oliver’s also seen the way Slade looks at Shado. With three people alone on the island, it’s not much of a surprise that it would become an issue. He doesn’t want to step on Slade’s toes, but Shado kissed him, not the other way around. He has nothing to feel guilty about._

_He just pretends he doesn’t notice Slade rubbing a scar on his forearm._

_..._

**_Three Years and Two Months, Lian Yu_ **

_It isn’t until after he gets off the freighter that Oliver gets up the nerve destroy his mark. He’s been shot, stitched himself up, and rescued Sara. Doctor Ivo was more concerned about his mysterious “Mirakuru” than soulmates, but several of the prisoners had noticed. It suddenly seemed more dangerous than before._

_That night, while Sara tends to Slade’s burns Oliver stares into the depths of their fire. It was a risk with Ivo’s men looking for them, but they needed to sterilize cloth for the Slade’s burns. So they were boiling water._

_Oliver’s gaze shifts to the knife in his hand and back to the hot coals of the fire, an idea forming in his mind._

_He glances at Shado where she sits with Slade, tenderly washing his wounds. They’ve gotten closer. Any idiot could see that. And Oliver’s willing to bet Slade’s destroyed tattoo matched Shado’s._

_Slade’s a lucky guy._

_Oliver sighs. Maybe the man has a point._

_Hardly aware he’s made a decision, Oliver stabs the dagger in his hand into the coals, resting the blade on the coals until it gets white hot. While he waits, he grabs a stick, peeling back the bark._

_He bites down on the stick as he pulls the blade from the fire and prepares to press it against his skin._

_“Oliver? What are you doing?” Shado asks quietly, like she’s talking to a wounded animal._

_“Ollie!”_

_He ignores Sara and Shado, pressing the knife into his side. He screams around the stick as his skin melts under the direct heat of the blade. If possible it hurts even more when he rips the cooling blade away from the fused skin._

_Sara gags and almost loses the contents of her stomach while Shado rips the knife from his hands and throws it into the ground, away from them. “What were you thinking?”_

_Oliver spits the stick out and collapses backwards. He grunts. “It’s better this way.”_

_“Better? Ollie, you just seared your side with a knife!” Sara cries, eyes wide in shock. “You just destroyed your mark!”_

_He hisses as Shado spreads the salve they created from the herbs Yao Fei used. “That was stupid,” she adds._

_“Probably.” But he doesn’t regret it at the moment. It’s not like the mark ever did him any good._

_“You’re an idiot, kid.”_

_He shoots a glare at Slade through his worry about the husky sound of his burned vocal chords. “You shouldn’t be talking. Besides, you told me to get rid of the mark.”_

_“I might have been wrong about that,” he whispers before closing his eyes with a painful grimace._

_“You need to rest,” Shado admonishes, returning to his side. “You shouldn’t be talking.”_

_Sara moves to tend to his burn, but Oliver waves her off, crudely wrapping it himself. He already feels cut off, disconnected from the world, but this is how he lives now: in a world where soulmarks only endanger others and he’s fighting for his life on a daily basis._

_His mate will wake up one day with a scar and no explanation._

_And for that, he’s actually sorry._

_..._

_“SHADO!”_

_Oliver blinks back tears at the broken scream. Hours after the gunshot, hours after the violence, blood, and gore, Slade is still devastated. It’s proof that Oliver was right, that they were soulmates._

_Losing Shado is driving his friend mad._

_..._

_“Slade, listen to me! Shado died, but it’s not the end of the world! You don’t have to do this.” He hates that he has to have an arrow aimed at his friend’s heart for the whole speech._

_“She’s dead because of YOU! This is all your fault!”_

_Oliver can’t argue with that, even if it would save his life. It_ is _his fault. All he can do is defend himself against Slade’s attack, the Mirakuru in his system, driving his superstrength, his speed, his madness._

_The rising water hinders his movements, but he takes a moment to marvel at how much he’s accomplished in the past two years to be able to hold his own against an enhanced Slade Wilson. Well, maybe holding his own is a generous term._

_He grunts as he flies back into the metal wall of the freighter. Sara’s still going in swinging, so he pulls himself back up. The bow was swept away in the slowly rising water, so all he has left are his bare hands._

_Everything is slipping through his fingers. Just when he gained some stability on the Island, the freighter showed up and ruined everything. Not that life was perfect, but he had established a new normal._

_And everything got so messed up that now he’s fighting the man who had become his best friend, his brother._

_He swings at Slade, his resolve galvanized in the face of his mad friend. He decided with the electroshock therapy that if he couldn’t cure Slade, he would kill him. It wasn’t out of desire, but for his own survival._

_Oliver’s spending more time in the water than fighting Slade. He’s losing this battle and he needs something, a weapon._

_His fingers wrap around an arrow shaft and Oliver already knows what he’s going to do. He has a weapon in his hands and he just reacts, heart turning to ice as the arrow finds its home in Slade’s eye socket._

_He has a split second to morn his friend before the water pulls him under._

_..._

**_Two Years Ago, Hong Kong_ **

_When he wakes, Amanda Waller doesn’t threaten his soulmate. She threatens his family if he doesn’t cooperate. He only finds out from Maseo later that Waller had him searched for his soulmate mark, only to find the damaged scar instead. For once, he had actually done something right in destroying the thing._

_Everything he’s been through since the_ Queen’s Gambit _sank, has lead him here, turned him into the monster Waller uses to kill and torture her way through Hong Kong. And he’s disturbingly good at his job, but it didn’t take his soul until General Shrieve released his virus._

_Sitting in the aftermath, blood covering his hands as Shrieve’s body, he realizes he can’t go back, even if he wants to. He’s not the same boy who left his parents and his life behind. He’s too broken to ever fit in with a soulmate, no matter who she might be._

_..._

**_About One Year Ago, Coast City_ **

_He gets on the first boat bound for the United States. It doesn’t even take him that far from home, and he almost jumps on the first bus bound for Starling City, but instead he holes up in a cheap motel and gets a job at Ferris Air as a baggage monkey. He learns quickly that the motel is a rendezvous point for some less than legal activities. He recognizes bits of Russian here and there, but it’s not really any of his business, even if he does hear Anatoli’s name muttered in whispers._

_The motel is seedy and he has no interest getting involved in any business there, just like he’s completely disinterested in going home. So he’s surprised when he wakes to a knocking on his door in the middle of the night._

_He doesn’t sleep much and when he does its light, so he has a knife in his hand before he’s standing. He approaches the door like he expects it to be kicked in. Through the peep hole he spots a well-groomed woman who looks distinctly out of place in the dingy motel. But she’s also staring straight into the peephole with an unimpressed gaze._

_“Oliver Queen, we need to talk.” She announces, glancing to the side where he suspects her partner waits._

_“How do you know that name?” He asks, adjusting his grip on the knife so it fits in his palm more naturally._

_“Amanda Waller sent us.”_

_“Then you can fuck off.” He steps back from the door, glancing around to room without ever taking an eye off the door._

_“She sent us, but we don’t work for Waller. We need your help.”_

_“I think you have the wrong idea,” he responds, slipping the knife back into its sheath._

_He hears whispered voices on the other side that sound vaguely like an argument before the woman addresses him again. “It’s something only you can help us with. But we can’t talk about it here. We’ll be waiting at the café down the street until 4pm.”_

_Oliver sighs. He has to move on now. Someone knows he’s here. The only reason his family hasn’t found him is because they believe he’s dead. If someone else could find him, so could his mother’s fancy private investigators. It’s not he’s going to take her job._

_“We need your help getting the Bratva out of Starling and Coast Cities,” a deeper voice adds after he thought they were gone. Oliver pauses at the thought. That’s what his father wanted, right? To clean up Starling City? “I don’t trust Waller for crap, but she swears you’re the only one who can help. That’s what we want to talk about. That’s it.”_

_He listens to the heavier footsteps move down the hall. The voice had been quiet enough that he’s sure any other ears couldn’t have overheard. He turns to look at his duffel bag in the corner, still as neatly packed as the day he moved in a couple months ago._

_Begrudgingly he grabs a sweatshirt. He has nothing to do today anyway._

_..._

_“Thank you for coming, Mr. Queen.”_

_Oliver winces. “Mr. Queen was my father. Just...call me Oliver.” His eyes wander over the crowded café uneasily._

_“Oliver, right. So, John and I need to infiltrate the Bratva.” Lyla glances at the man next to her, who introduced himself as John Diggle. “John’s been trying, but he’s barely managed to get anywhere. Waller said you knew someone...”_

_“The only Russian I know is Anatoli Knyazev. And we met on a freighter in the North China Sea. I don’t think he’s going to be much help.” He frowns as they exchange a meaningful look. After seeing the way they communicate without words like Tatsu and Maseo used to, Oliver’s aware they’re soulmates._

_“Anatoli Knyazev is the head of the Bratva,” Digg tells him in a dry voice. It’s the first he’s spoken since he whispered through the door._

_Oliver pauses then snorts. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Waller knew I knew him.” He huffs and levels the pair with a gaze. Plenty of people have shifted under his attention, but Lyla and Diggle face it head on. “What do you want me to do exactly?”_

_“We...want to take down the Starling and Coast City branches of Bratva. They’re led by a man named Alexei.” Lyla takes a deep breath and glances nervously at John Diggle. “We’ve been gathering intelligence, but we need someone higher up. If you know Anatoli, you can get in higher up. It’s a lot faster than working our way up from the bottom.”_

_He frowns, thinking about what that would mean. “You want me to go to Russia, talk Anatoli into giving me a position of power in Starling or Coast City, and then turn everyone over to the authorities?”_

_“We had to think smalltime before. If you get high enough, we could bring down most of their outposts in the US. Do you know what they’ve been doing here? Human trafficking. They are taking girls and selling them, like cattle. They’re turning innocents into sex slaves, selling drugs, weapons, you name it!” Lyla’s voice gains confidence, passion as she continues. “We want to stop that.”_

_Oliver scowls. “I won’t go back to Starling. If I wanted that, I would have gone home after Hong Kong.”_

_“You won’t have to go to Starling. We have connections. We can keep you safe, keep you in the shadows,” Lyla assures him._

_He shifts. “And who is we?”_

_“A subdivision of A.R.G.U.S. run by me and John and specifically dedicated to this.”_

_“You would have complete discretion over how much you do or don’t do for this mission. You wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We don’t do things the same way Waller does,” John adds, seemingly sensing Oliver’s reservations as soon as A.R.G.U.S. was mentioned._

_He crosses his arms and stares out the window, contemplating the situation. If they’re telling the truth, then this could help him fulfill his father’s edict of bettering Starling city._

_It also probably used his newly developed skills._

_At least he could put them to good use._

_“I’m in.”_

_..._

**_One Year Ago, Moscow_ **

_“Oliver! My favorite American!”_

_“Anatoli!” He smiles, allowing the Russian to clap him into a hug. The man is all smiles and kindness, booming voice and laughter._

_“What brings you to Moscow, my friend?” Anatoli claps him on the back, ushering him over to his table and sitting him down. He drops a glass in front of Oliver with a clunk. “Here! Have a drink. We must celebrate!”_

_Grinning, he takes the drink, and the drink after that, and the drink after that, until he’s decidedly not sober. He and Anatoli laugh like old friends, but he keeps his head clear enough to further his mission, an eye fixed on John Diggle lurking in the corner._

_He’s here to do a job, after all. He’s here to infiltrate the Bratva._

...

And he succeeded.

Which unfortunately opened a huge can of worms when Oliver’s family started looking for him again. Now he’s face to face with the leader of the Bratva, still unable to walk steadily on his busted leg.

“Was this necessary, Anatoli? I could have told you everything without your inept torturer,” Oliver growls as he approaches Anatoli at an admittedly slower pace than was considered intimidating.

The friendly smile no longer graces his friend’s face. “There were concerns of duplicity. We had to be sure.”

Oliver scowls. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, not faking his irritation at the whole situation. “I think...” He sighs, forcing the confession out. “If my family found my soulmate, they would know I was alive. It’s the only thing I can think of.”

Anatoli sizes him up. He stands tall under the imperious gaze until the other man nods. “I think you are telling the truth. Then this is good news, yes? Perhaps it is time for you to return home.”

He nods. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“I shall miss you, friend, but I think we will meet again. Perhaps I will even meet your other half. I don’t think this needs to be the end of our friendship.”

“Of course not. I look forward to it.” He shakes hands with Anatoli and a smile, pretending the implications of their conversation don’t scare the life out of him. He never wanted to put his family in this type of danger, but he’s run out of options. “Until we meet again.”

...

“So what’s the plan?” Oliver asks, trying not to hobble too much as he walks with Diggle towards the plane on the tarmac. He’s sure if it was his mother’s there would be a bold “Queen” on the side in some vibrant color so it could not be mistaken for anything else. If anything, all this does is make him more anxious. Because if it’s not his family, it’s A.R.G.U.S.

“We could admit we found you in Russia – it verifies your girl’s story – or we could drop you back at the island and I can point one of the search groups in your direction, like we originally planned. Option two isn’t a huge risk in your condition, but it is a risk.” Diggle’s eyes are on him as he outlines the choices ahead of them.

Oliver’s familiar enough with the Island to know the risks. It was always the plan to go back there and be ‘discovered’ when the whole Russian operation was done. Oliver sighs. Getting on the A.R.G.U.S. plane will mean choosing the latter. He’s fairly certain he can handle living on the Island for a couple weeks, but he doesn’t know which idea makes more sense.

“What do you think, Digg?”

The other man sighs. “The original plan...it keeps everyone focused on the Island, it doesn’t open your story up to further scrutiny.”

“And that’s the reason I grew the beard, right?” Oliver offers jocosely.

Digg doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s up to you.”

“Any other cons – besides your worry about my ability to survive – that I need to be aware of?” He needs all the facts.

“Well, your girl...Lyla wants to read her in. She’s waiting for me to talk to you, but she thinks we should.”

Oliver sighs, running a hand through his hair as he turns around. “And you?”

“It’s not the safest to bring her in, but she’s a smart girl. Sooner or later she’s going to start asking questions. I think she can handle it.”

“But...” He can hear the hesitation and indecision in his friend’s voice.

“It puts her in danger. She can’t protect herself.” The military man crosses his arms, looking Oliver straight in the eye. “And she will need protection, Oliver. She’s already involved, one way or another. The Russians know about her. She’s probably going to have to find out one way or another.”

“So what you’re saying is tell her? Just to be clear.” That comes with its own complications, which they both well know. However, that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Keeping her in the dark could keep her safe.

“I’m saying I don’t want to be in your shoes.” Diggle allows himself a smirk as he waits for Oliver’s answer.

Seeing that he’s not going to get any more help from Diggle, Oliver turns his back to the plane. He doesn’t have time to think this through like he wants to. He’d love the time to consider this from all angles. This doesn’t just affect him.  

“Shit.” Oliver curls his hands into fists, wishing he had more control over the circumstances. “Drop me on the island and have Lyla read her in.”

“Okay.” Digg nods, moving forward to the plane.

Oliver stops him before he reaches the steps with a hand on his arm. “Make sure they find me as quickly as possible.”

Diggle nods. “Will do. Be safe.”

Oliver nods as he boards the plane. If only life were that easy

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Felicity**

When Felicity comes to, she’s in her own bed, under the blankets and she could almost believe that what happened in her office was a dream, except for the dull throbbing headache. That and it’s far too early for her to have fallen asleep naturally. The sun is just barely setting through the window.

There’s no one else in her darkening room as she pats around on her night table for her phone or her tablet, which are never far from her grasp, even when she sleeps. Coming up empty, she frowns.

That’s unusual. Not more unusual than the whole being-drugged thing, but it proves further that it’s not a dream.

Cautiously, she slips from under the covers, bare feet hitting the carpet as her eyes continue to scan the room to see if anything else is out of place. But she doesn’t see anything bizarre. It’s all right where it’s supposed to be: Her glasses are resting on the night table and her shoes are back in their place in closet.

She tiptoes to the door, feeling slightly foolish sneaking around her own house. She thinks about shoving her feet into her slippers so she doesn’t ruin another pair of stockings by putting runs in the feet. Then she shakes her head:

She’s being ridiculous. There might be someone in her house, someone who _kidnapped_ her, and she’s thinking about putting on shoes to avoid runs. 

Slowly, she eases her door open, listening for life signs down the hallway. No sounds emanate down the hallway, but Felicity still casts around for something to use as a weapon. Why doesn’t she keep a bat in her bedroom? She should have a bat in her bedroom. As a single woman, living alone, she should really have a bat to protect herself.

She moves down the hallway slowly. Seriously. Maybe an umbrella in the hallway could work. No. That’s stupid. Who would keep umbrellas in the hallway to the bedroom and not next to the door?

Edging around the corner, she curls her hands into fists, prepared to unleash her albeit limited martial fury on the woman who knocked her out. Her fists hover in front of her face, only to slowly lower as she realizes the room is empty.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Felicity.”

“Ahhhhhh!” She shrieks, jumping about a foot in the air. Spinning, she faces the same woman as before. She casts around for a weapon and ends up brandishing a drink cozy in her direction. “Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? Why did you knock me out?”

Lyla takes a step forward and Felicity stumbles back a couple steps until she knocks into the side table.

“Felicity. I’m sorry for knocking you out.”

“You’re sorry?! You drugged me and brought me home! That’s nowhere near the realm of sorry! That’s the realm of axe murders and serial killers!”

“Oliver sent me!” Lyla shouts, cutting Felicity off before she can continue freaking out. She takes a deep breath as the woman freezes at the next moment in shock at the statement.

“Oliver Queen, the man who’s been missing for four years, sent you to kidnap me?” She asks slowly, putting emphasis on every word.

Lyla nods slowly, taking the opening she sees. “You were right. He was in Russia. He’s been working with A.R.G.U.S. to help take out the Russian mob. Once you started looking for him again, his cover with the Russians was blown.”

Felicity releases a strained laugh, heading towards sounding hysterical. “Russia? I was right?” She shakes her head. That’s not the point right now. “But...if he’s undercover for A.R.G.U.S., why would the world think he’s dead? And you should know, I have no money, so you’re not going to get a ransom or anything like that.”

“I’m not holding you for ransom. I’m here to keep you safe-“

“BY KIDNAPPING ME?!?!” She cries, her voice rising an octave.

“By protecting you from the Bratva. At least until John and Oliver get back from Russia.”

Felicity sputters, beyond capacity of speech. Finally a “what” eeks out.

Lyla moves forward slowly, gently easing the cozy from her hand and returning it to the table. “How about we just sit down and talk?”

“Talk?! You _kidnapped_ me!”

Lyla sighs. “Kidnapping might not have been the best idea.”

“You think?!” She shrieks.

Lyla moves forward, hands outstretched in a calming gesture. “I had hoped you wouldn’t wake up until John got back. He can explain everything.”

“So what? You’re just going to hold me hostage until he gets here? What is it you want?” Felicity demands, wondering what is going on with the woman. She can’t wrap her head around the whole situation. “Who the hell is John?”

“My partner: John Diggle. Moira Queen’s head of security.”

Felicity’s heart slows down a couple beats because that makes sense. John Diggle...he’s the man Moira sent to Russia after she had that weird vision thing. He’s looking for Oliver is Russia. She narrows her eyes at the woman. “You expect me to believe John Diggle is a government agent?”

“Yes. We’re partners. Here,” she pulls out her wallet and hands Felicity of picture of her and John Diggle, dressed in Army fatigues with sand dunes rising up behind them.   

Her mind is still telling her a thousand and one different scenarios where the picture could have come from, but she believes the woman in front of her enough to calm down a little more, tension leaving her shoulders.

Lyla nods. “Good. Now, let’s sit down.”

Felicity lowers herself slowly to the couch, maintaining eye contact with the other woman as if a single blink could be the difference between life and death. Her phone’s ringtone blares from the kitchen, finally ripping her gaze away from Lyla’s caramel eyes. She glances back.

“I’m guessing I can’t answer that,” she mutters.

Lyla sighs, walking into the kitchen. She brings the ringing phone and a laptop back into the room. Felicity realizes belatedly that would have been the perfect opportunity to run to the door. She could have gotten out of here.

She blinks in surprise when Lyla hands her the laptop instead of her still-ringing phone. She frowns, recognizing the tech as military grade as she runs her hands over the surface.

“I can’t risk giving you your phone. So this is my laptop. I’ve heard a little about what you can do with computers. I’m giving you free reign. It has all the files on the operation in Russia with Oliver.”

Her eyes skim over the laptop. This model has satellite connection, which is better than WiFi for outreach purposes.

“That has everything on every operation ever. There’s a file on Oliver specifically. All I ask is that you wait until Johnny gets here to call anyone.”

Felicity frowns at the laptop, considering her options. It shouldn’t be a choice, but she’s always hated mysteries. She wants to know what this is about. She _has to know_.

She glances back up at the woman across the couch from her. “This isn’t one of those things where if I read it, you have to kill me, right?”

Lyla smiles, shaking her head. “While normally I would be required to answer yes. That isn’t the case here. You were drawn into this because you’re Oliver’s soulmate, so we’re reading you in.”

She stares at Lyla for a moment. “So when is Oliver going to come home?” That seems to be the first thing she needs to know.

Lyla grimaces. “He’s going back to the island he was originally stranded on so he can be found my fishermen. It could be a couple days, it could be a couple weeks.”  

“And the,” Felicity falters as she searches for the right words, “the vision I had, of Oliver getting hurt...was that...” She swallows thickly, unable to finish the thought.

“Real?” Lyla finishes for her. “Yes.”

Felicity whimpers, reflexively curling her leg back into her body as if she can protect it. “And you’re sending him back to the island...is that a good idea?”

“It was his choice. Now, I’m going to get dinner while you look at that laptop. I found a Chinese menu on your fridge. Sound good?”

She blinks at the change of topics, but nods. Now that she’s thinking about it, her stomach is voicing its displeasure at the lack of food.

“I’m assuming the circled items are your favorites,” Lyla calls from the kitchen.

Felicity nods absentmindedly. This is definitely a weird situation. She’s sitting on her couch preparing to eat dinner with her kidnapper. She should probably be running to the door or trying to call for help. It wouldn’t be that hard to send an email with the computer in her hands, but she doesn’t feel like she’s in danger.

If Lyla really has kidnapped her, she’s really good at making her believe she’s safe.

...

Lyla’s married to John Diggle.

Felicity nearly chokes on the piece of sweet and sour chicken as she reads that file, glancing over at the woman eating lo mein from the box like she’s used chopsticks all her life. She purses her lips and leans forward over the laptop.

“Can I see your mark?”

Lyla raises an eyebrow, but slides off her jacket to show off the inky eagle on her upper arm.

Felicity nods. She thought it was a tattoo when she first saw it on Digg as he was teaching her, Thea, and Roy basic self-defense. He had set the record straight when they talked later, telling her about his amazing soulmate.

It makes her feel better about this decision. If she’s bound to John, there has to be something trustworthy about her.

Then again, maybe John is secretly evil.

She sighs, wondering if this is what John worried about when he told her she was too trusting. 

...

Lian Yu was just like he remembered it: cold and unforgiving.

And dark.

Because of his injury, he decides to camp close to the shore, dragging his chest from there it landed using the parachute. Sighing, he settles down for the night, giving himself a break. He has a few days to dispose of the parachutes and the modern bandaging on his wounds.

He flops down on the sand, staring up at the starry sky as his mind travels thousands of miles to what must be going on in Starling City.

A soulmate. _His_ soulmate.

After all he’s been through, the different live he’s lived for the past four years, heading back home to a normal life surrounded by money and materialism seems like another world. He’s cut himself off, purposefully, from everything that made him Oliver Queen: his family, their money, his soulmate.

Choosing to go home isn’t something he thought possible. He’s changed too much.

He thought he’d changed too much when Waller sent him back. When he saw his father’s video, he learned he hadn’t changed enough. Ollie Queen – Playboy billionaire – wasn’t enough to effect real change on his city. What was the point in going home if he would only fail?

Then John and Lyla gave him the perfect opportunity to bring down the Bratva. He thought this could be the key to saving his city, but after a year in Russia, he knows they’re not the whole problem. What he’s learned from the Bratva, he can use those skills, those connections to take down the people destroying Starling from the inside.

That wasn’t something he planned on doing from the Queen Mansion with a soulmate to worry about. But it’s another obstacle thrown his way.

His mind travels back to a conversation with Slade when he said soulmates rarely come into your life when you want them, but they come up when you need them. It doesn’t feel like he needs her right now, but it’s not like outside sources were taking his opinion into consideration. Between his mother and the Russian mob, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Now he just has to survive so he can get home.

...

_Knock knock knock._

Felicity fights a yawn as she drags her eyes from the laptop files to the door. She looks at the clock blinking at the sun peeking through the blinds as she realizes its morning.

She turns to Lyla who she last remembers sitting at the other end of the sofa. The woman’s snuggled up under a light blue blanket, nearly passed out and not even stirring as the pounding on her door continues. 

Some bodyguard Lyla makes. Felicity shakes her head. Lyla’s not the most diligent kidnapper, but Felicity’s got a sneaking suspicion that the woman’s fatigue comes from something else based on her avoidance of coffee and a couple particularly strong smells that came with the Chinese food.

She sets the laptop down gently on the table, even though it’s not likely to Lyla up, and she rises on tiptoes to gaze through the peep hole, relaxing as she recognizes the brown mop of hair. Glancing back at Lyla’s peaceful form, Felicity slips out the door, closing it gently behind her.

“Hey, Thea. What are you doing here so early? It’s like 6am.” She rubs her eyes and stretches against her closed door.

Thea smiles nervously. “So, I need you to tell my mom I was here last night.”

Felicity frowns. “Thea...where-“

“I was at Roy’s, but Mom doesn’t like to hear that, so will you cover for me?” She clasps her hands, puffing out her bottom lip as she pleads. “Please!”

Felicity sighs, nodding. “Fine. We...watched Gilmore Girls on Netflix and you slept over.” She smiles, pretty proud of her own imagination.

“Great! Can I come in? I could really use some coffee.” She reaches for the doorknob and Felicity hastily steps in her way.

“Um...”

“What? Do you have someone in there?”

She flinches at Thea’s accusatory tone, grimacing at the anger that reared at the implication that she would be sleeping with someone other than her soulmate. “No. No. It’s...I had a friend stay over and she’s asleep on the couch, so you just have to be really quiet. Okay?”

Inch by inch, Felicity eases the door open until she can see Lyla burrowing further into the couch. The breath she didn’t even realize she was holding escapes her in a rush and Felicity gestures Thea into the room.

Thea glances at the woman on the couch, but continues directly into the kitchen, walking lightly on tip toes. Noticing the open laptop, Felicity reaches over and closes the screen quickly on a picture of Russian Mob boss Anatoli Knyazev before joining Thea in the kitchen as she attempts to work Felicity’s coffee pot.

She leans over Thea to press the start button and immediately the pot bubbles to life.

“So, who’s that?” Thea asks, peeking out into the living room.

“Lyla Michaels. She...surprised me yesterday and ended up crashing here.” Felicity shrugs. That’s the truth, after all.

“On the couch? Have you even slept at all?”

“I had a nap,” she fills in with a guilty smile, sorry for lying at all. Technically it was a nap...just a drug induced one.

Thea nods, pulling mugs from the cabinet.

“So how’s Roy?”

Thea shrugs. “We had fun.”

Felicity raises an eyebrow her lack-luster tone, but doesn’t say anything. Thea has a right to her secrets. She just needs to be here when Thea’s ready to talk.

“You’re making more coffee?” Lyla asks, yawning loudly as she shuffles into the kitchen with a blanket draped over her shoulders.

“Yup. You want some?” Thea asks, causing the other woman to blink in surprise as she stares at the newcomer.

“No. I’m good.” Lyla’s nose scrunches in distaste as she looks at the pot.

“I think I’ve got some tea around here somewhere,” Felicity offers, moving towards the cabinet above her stove where she thinks she has some teabags stashed in the very back.

“Hi! I’m Thea.” The girl holds out her hand to the woman.

Lyla pulls her hand from the confines of her blanket. “Lyla Michaels.”

“How do you know Felicity?”

“We have mutual friends,” Felicity fills in, jumping down from the counter with a small box of Lipton tea. “And I found tea!” She plops it triumphantly on the counter with a bright smile.

“Mutual friends?” Thea doesn’t look like she’s buying it.

“Tea?” Lyla asks, frowning at the box.

“Tea helps settle your stomach, right?” Felicity asks as there’s another knock on her door.

She leaves them both with unanswered questions to reach the door. There’s never been this many people in her apartment before seven in the morning. She’s usually asleep right now.

This time she comes face to face with the man she expected earlier. 

John Diggle has arrived.

She steps back to let him in and Digg raises an eyebrow as he spots Lyla and Thea looking out of the kitchen.

“Mr. Diggle? What are you doing here? I thought you were looking for Ollie?” Thea frowns.

He glances at Lyla and then Felicity. “Well, we couldn’t find your brother in Russia, but the search is expanding. We’ll find Oliver.”

Thea nods, looking disappointed as she turns to pour herself a cup of coffee. She pauses with the her mug half full. “Wait. So why are you here?”

 “I had a red-eye flight, and I knew Lyla was here, so this was my first stop.”

“Lyla?” Thea turns to the woman still wrapped in her blue blanket.

Lyla smiles and walks over to Diggle, finally discarding the blanket before wrapping him in a hug and pulling him down so she can press a kiss to his lips.

“Oh,” Thea mutters at the open affection. “That...”

Felicity smiles at how they cling to each other, touching even though the embrace ended like they can’t get enough of each other.

“Thea Queen, this is my wife, Lyla Michaels.” Diggle grins down at her, pulling her closer to his side.

Felicity smiles at the soulmates, amazed by the love shared between the stoic partners. She wonders if she’ll have that one day. With all she read about what happened in Russia, she’s more nervous than ever about meeting Oliver. She hasn’t experienced a fraction of what he has. How is she ever supposed to relate to him?

She desperately wants to talk to John and Lyla, demanding answers that the files didn’t provide, but with Thea present, she’s can’t. So they’re left jumping from topic to topic until Thea decides it’s finally time for her to head home.

...

Felicity watches Thea until the elevator doors close before slamming the door and rounding on the two ex-military A.R.G.U.S. agents.

“How is he?”

It’s not the question she intended to ask first or even second, but it’s the one that comes spurting out of her mouth as soon as she sees them waiting on her couch.

“A little beaten up, but he’ll be fine,” John answers vaguely, glancing back at Lyla. “So you’re taking it well?”

“At this point, I’m just glad he’s not being beat up in some dark basement by a Russian guy named Ivan.” She huffs and drops into the chair opposite the couch, gaze focusing on the laptop.

“It was actually probably Nikolai,” Lyla offers and then grimaces. “But that wasn’t the point.”

Felicity shakes her head. “So why was kidnapping me necessary?”

“Lyla and I were worried about your safety,” John announces, his hand still clasped in Lyla’s. “There was a chance the Bratva would come after you.”

“Was?” She asks tentatively.

“There still is,” Digg admits. “We’re going to start giving you your own security. At least until Oliver gets back.”

“Is this really a big deal?” Felicity asks, glancing between the two.

They both nod somberly and she falls back, closing her eyes. “Does that mean there’s going to be someone following me around twenty-four/seven?”

“Not necessarily. Although, Lyla will probably be hanging around more.” John glances at his wife and she nods.

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” When they just frown at her, she points to Lyla. She ran to the bathroom three times in the two hours Thea was in her apartment. Felicity’s not pretty certain Lyla’s pregnant.

Lyla grimaces, leaning back. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re expecting trouble. It’s more precautionary.”

“But if something happens...” Felicity bites her lip, aware of the fact that apparently Lyla hasn’t told John she’s pregnant.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Lyla insists.

John frowns, glancing down at her. “Am I missing something?”

She reaches out and squeezes his forearm. “I’ll tell you later, Johnny.”

He scowls, nodding in agreement and turning back to Felicity. “So, do you have any other questions about Oliver?”

Felicity huffs, pulling a pillow up to her chest and wrapping her arms around it for something to hug. “Yeah. How about why I somehow know everything about my soulmate without ever meeting him? Everyone seems to be telling me stuff and that’s nice and all, and _of course_ I’m worried about the guy I saw being tortured, but he’s a complete stranger otherwise. And I sort of feel like a stranger invading his privacy. I mean, we’ve never met but I know everything about him. It’s not like he had any choice in the matter. And there’s no way in hell I’m prepared for any of this.”

She takes a deep gasping breath and barrels on before Lyla or John can get a single word in. “I’m just a regular girl. I’m not used to Russian mobs and assassins and torture. And how the hell is this supposed to be my life? I’m so out of my depth here that it isn’t funny. Why can’t I just have been normal and ran into him on the street or something?” 

Tirade over, Felicity takes a couple moments catching her breath and pretending Lyla and Digg aren’t staring at her like an alien took over her body.

“Let me get you some tea,” Lyla offers, slipping into the kitchen.

John sighs, sliding forward on the seat and speaking in a slow, calm voice. “We know this is a lot to handle, but it’s better that you know.”

“Better? How is it better knowing my soulmate has done these things? How is it better that I have all this information and he has none? Does he even know my name?” Somehow Digg’s deep calm voice is only infuriating her more.

Or maybe it’s that he has his perfect match right here and she’s never had a chance to talk to hers, never heard his voice except when he was being tortured in a Russian dungeon. 

Diggle sighs. “No. He didn’t want to know.”

“See?!” She announces triumphantly. “Even he knows we shouldn’t know about each other until we actually meet in person. This is crazy!” She slumps back against the pillow, groaning.

“He wanted us to read you in, but if he knew who you were when he got back, it would raise questions we don’t want asked.” Diggle supplies, smiling kindly at the cowering blonde. “He wants you to know this. You’re going to be a part of his life – that’s unavoidable. You need all the facts.”

“What if I don’t want all the facts?” Because she’s terrified she’ll do something wrong when they finally do meet. She knows so much about him. She’s read all the terrible things from the files that make her stomach churn, and yet, somehow she can still see something in his eyes that reminds her of the stories Thea shares and the kind man he was while they were growing up. There aren’t many pictures in the file, but what she sees in his eyes in those few pictures is enough to tell her that he still has a good heart.

“Felicity, everything he’s doing is to make Starling City a better place. That’s his goal. I’m working for the Queens to keep them safe for Oliver. He knew he would have to come back eventually. And he’s ready for that, but he’s also not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Regardless of the marks, you have your own choice.”

She nods slowly, unclenching from the pillow to take the cup of tea Lyla hands her. “The file said...” she grimaces at the thought of the harrowing words she read. “It said his mark was...said it wasn’t there.”

John glances at Lyla to answer that one.

“He burned it off. It’s unrecognizable due to scar tissue. If it wasn’t A.R.G.U.S. would have come looking for you two years ago.” Lyla settles back onto the couch. “For people like Waller, your soulmates are your weakness. Oliver cares too much about the people close to him. Waller would have used you against him.”

Felicity bobs her head slowly. She stares in her mug, watching the steam rise off the water. “So all we do now is wait for him to be found?”

John nods. “We wait and we keep you safe.”

“Then I’ll leave you two to talk.” She stands, heading to her room. She needs a shower and a change of clothes. And she doesn’t need to be the third wheel when Lyla tells John she’s pregnant.

...

 It’s a travesty of modern medicine, but Oliver had to ditch the brace for his knee in favor of a makeshift splint of sticks and the torn bottom of his shirt. After a week without rescue he wishes he had waited a little longer. It’s already going to take months to heal and now he’s forced to hobble around the island using a branch as a crutch.

He can’t move far from the beach in any case, which is severely limiting his options when it comes to survival. He spends most of his time wading in the water, trying to catch fish.

He’s starting to wish he took Diggle up on the offer to find him in Russia.

Before Oliver can resort to climbing the mountainous island to the extra satellite phone stashed for emergencies, he sees a small boat on the horizon. It’s a small fisherman’s vessel, designed for no more than three or four people, and they had to have been guided in this direction, away from their normal fishing waters.

He only wastes a single breath before lighting the signal fire, hobbling closer to the beach to wave his arms wildly and shout for their attention, like any man who was stranded for four years would.

It’s a relief when they pull him into the boat and he nearly collapses from pain in his leg.

Random shouts of Chinese fly around him, but he feigns obliviousness, accepting their hospitality without question: the blanket, the tea, the seat. He’s going to be on a plane home soon enough.

For the first time since China, he actually wants to go home. A week with his own thoughts and he has a plan: a plan to save his city, to get rid of the gang and mob influence in the Glades, to clean up the streets.

It might not all work, but he’s got a plan, and this time it accounts for soulmates crawling out of the woodwork.

The question is: is he ready to see his family again?

...

Felicity rolls over, glaring at her phone on the nightstand where it starts ringing for the third time in five minutes. It was her day off and she was taking advantage of it by sleeping in, so she really didn’t appreciate the shrill ringing ruining her beauty sleep.

“What?” she groans into the phone, not bothering to hide her sleepiness or displeasure. It’s too early for that kind of effort.

“They found him!” Thea’s cheerful voice screeches.

Felicity winces, pulling the phone from her ear and holding it at arm’s length. She forces the sleep from her eyes, stretching, but unwilling to pull herself from the warm covers. Technically she knows this already. John came over last night and told her.

Ever so slowly, she shoves her feet into her colorful fuzzy slippers and lifts the phone back to her ear. Thea continues to prattle excitedly in her ear and Felicity heads down the hall, attempting to tame her bed head with one hand.

She scowls at the time on the microwave (5:30am) before turning the coffee maker on and turning on the stove burner under the kettle. She pulls two mugs from the cabinet, slipping a tea bag into one mug.

“I’m so happy for you, Thea,” she says when the other end of the line lapses into silence.

“Me? What about you?” She demands. “Your _soulmate_ is coming back, Lissy. _Your soulmate_.”

Felicity sighs, switching the phone to her other ear. “Thea, I still haven’t met you brother.”

“And now you can! We only found him because of you!”

“You don’t want to overwhelm him, Thea. Who knows what he’s gone through the last four years.” She pulls the honey from the cabinet, setting it beside the tea mug.

“You _have_ to come with us to the hospital.”

Felicity sighs, knowing fighting Thea isn’t really going to get her anywhere even if this whole situation is completely insane. “He doesn’t know me, Thea. I can’t intrude on your family moment.”

“You’re practically family. I mean, you’re going to be family, so you’re going to come. He’s going straight from the airport to Starling General Hospital, so I’ll pick you up and we’ll meet him there.”

“Thea-“

“I’ll be there in an hour. Wear a pretty dress.” 

The line clicks before Felicity can summon a response. She shakes her head, clearing the cobwebs off her mind. She tosses the phone on the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee and dropping onto a kitchen chair. Thea’s probably already planning their wedding.

“What was that about?” Lyla asks, looking awake and put together.

“Thea was calling to let me know Oliver’s coming back. She wants me to go to the hospital with them.” Felicity lifts her feet to rest on the chair, curling into herself. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

Lyla pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge and a frying pan from the cabinet. She glances over her shoulder at Felicity. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you’re not the one meeting your soulmate for the first time.” Felicity runs her hand around the rim of her mug. She reaches for any kind of reason beyond anxiety and nerves. There has to be an argument to use on Thea that will work.

“You have nothing to worry about, Felicity.” Lyla starts cracking eggs into a glass bowl.

“What about the Russian Mob?” Felicity asks, grabbing on to the only potential problem she can see.

Lyla sighs. “They’re going to find out anyway. They already know you exist and that’s why the search for Oliver started up again. It’s really not that much of an issue.” Felicity’s anxiety must be written all over her face because Lyla immediately softens her voice. “But if you don’t want to go, I’m sure we could come up with some excuse.”   

Felicity takes a slow sip of her coffee, mind racing.

Thinking about it, she knows she wants to meet him in person. She wants to see the man fate seems to think she belongs with, the man Thea looks up to as an older brother, the man she’s heard and read so much about. She wants to know how he measures up to what she’s heard. Strangely, she also wants to be there to help be a buffer between him and the intense women in his family.

But would he want her there?

She’s a complete stranger.

“I don’t think he’d turn you away,” Lyla says. “And there’s got to be something you have in common. You wouldn’t be soulmates otherwise.”

Felicity chews on her bottom lip. “You think?”

Lyla smiles, pouring the eggs into the heated pan. “When is Thea picking you up?”

“Forty-five minutes.” Felicity sighs. “I should probably get dressed.”

God. She can’t believe she’s going to the hospital to meet her soulmate.

...

“Oliver?”

His mother’s soft voice cuts through the constant buzz of electricity and Oliver fights the instinctual uptick of his lips. Slowly he turns around to face her, slowly because his knee is in a fresh new cast and he has to deal with crutches.

“My baby boy!”

He ducks his head and is immediately enveloped by the floral scent of her perfume as she embraces him, the combination just highlights how much she hasn’t changed in the past few years. He hasn’t had a hug in so long and his mother doesn’t appear to be anywhere close to letting go so he sways gently in her arms, feeling her tears soaking through his shirt.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get you back.”

Oliver closes his eyes at her whispered confession, squeezing her closer for a second.

The door clicks open with another soft, “Oliver?”

He grins at the brunette and hobbles away from his mother to embrace her. “Speedy.” She’s taller than he remembers, but not by much. When she throws her arms around him, he barely catches himself from falling and hurting himself worse.

Thea squeezes him harder to keep him there, like her arms could save him from getting lost again.

His eyes lift back to the door where he meets the eyes of a teenage boy in a red hoodie. Thea, sensing his distraction, pulls away with a large smile. “Oh, Ollie, this is Roy, my soulmate. Roy, this is Oliver.”

The boy nervously shuffles forward, holding out his hand. “Hi.”

Gripping the kid’s hand a little tighter than necessary, Oliver levels him with a stern gaze. The kid might be his sister’s soulmate, but that doesn’t mean Oliver can’t play the protective older brother. For his part, Roy quickly pulls his hand back, stuffing it into the worn pocket of her hoodie and taking a step back, warning clearly received.  

His mom and Thea exchange looks before Moira takes control of the situation again.

“So how are you, Oliver?” She runs her hand up his arm, soothing so as to not ruffle any feathers, like she could send him spiraling if she said something wrong.

“I need to sit down,” He says with a polite smile, hopping backwards to get off his knee.

Immediately Moira and Thea start fussing, helping him into the hospital bed. He lets them, knowing that it’s comforting them more than him. They just need to make sure he’s here and alright.

He’s not even sure what they’re doing anymore because it’s just a flurry of movement in his periphery.

His eyes are trained on the two figures still waiting outside the room. There’s a blonde on the other side of the door talking to Lyla, a blonde he doesn’t recognize, but who keeps glancing through the window.

Her bright blue eyes meet his through the window and her mouth parts in surprise before she blushes and turns away.  

“That’s Felicity,” Thea says, bringing Oliver’s attention crashing back to her. She’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “She’s the reason we found you.”

His eyes drift back to the blonde, contemplating her. She’s beautiful, but not his usual type. He usually goes for brunettes, not nerdy blondes, but here’s something about the black glasses and painted pink lips that he finds intriguing.

“Do you want to meet her?” Thea asks, the hope evident in her voice.

He glances at Thea bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. The excitement pulsing off her reminds him just how invested his sister always was in the concept of soulmates. He doesn’t need someone to say, ‘she’s your soulmate,’ but he doesn’t know what to expect of this interaction. At least in his sister’s eyes, there’s a lot riding on this meeting. Then again there’s a lot of pressure when it comes to soulmates and expectations.

Lyla smiling and laughing with her strikes him as odd. He’s never seen her so loose and carefree. She was always so serious and concerned about missions around him. Of course, he’s seen Digg and Lyla interact, but they’re still generally a very serious couple most of the time.

“I’ll go get her,” Thea announces, practically skipping to the door. “Felicity, come on in!”

Thea rips Felicity away from Lyla, dragging her into the room with a huge smile stretching across her face as she presents the blonde to Oliver with a flourish.

“Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak. Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen!” She has a dreamy look in her eyes and Oliver guesses she’s envisioning telling this story at their wedding.

He moves to swing his feet out of bed.

“Oliver! Don’t stand up! You need to rest!” His mother scolds. “Your kneecap is broken.”

He ignores her to slide to the edge of the bed, eyes locked into her blue eyes. He’s hiding everything from his family, but he reminds himself that she knows everything he’s been through. She knows what’s been happening in Russia because she’s now in danger because of the mark on her skin.

His mark.

Suddenly he wants to see it, the arrow inked on her skin and it takes all his control to bring himself back to his moment, this incredibly big moment when he meets her for the first time.

“How’s your leg?” She asks. Her eyes scan him, pausing on each injury she spots in her perusal: the cut on his forehead, the bruising on his arms, the obvious cast on his leg and the hidden stab wound. 

That’s all he needs to see to know whatever that poison they gave him actually did work. Damn it. He’d never meant to hurt an innocent girl.

...

All he’s doing is staring at her, which is more than a little awkward to say the least. Oliver’s all in one piece so she’s happy for that. That’s really the extent of their relationship.

She’s checking him over, looking everywhere she knows he’s injured for sure and then moving back to his face only to cover the same route again.

After she’s sure the injuries are being cared for, she gets distracted by the play of muscles that his thin white shirt does nothing to hide. The pictures really don’t do him justice. She just wants to reach out and touch him because all that muscle can’t be real. It’s too perfect.

A deep chuckle and a thumb rubbing small circles over the back of her hand draw her gaze back to his face. Felicity realizes she doesn’t remember when he grabbed her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Felicity,” Oliver says, plastering a playboy smirk on his face.

Her whole face heats and she covers her face with one hand. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He chuckles again, and she tries to pull her hand back, but Oliver keeps rubbing those unnerving circles into her skin. “You did.”

Felicity grimaces and glances around the room, surprised to find it empty. She turns around, looking for Moira, Thea, and Roy – the unfortunate witnesses to all her blunders. But they’re nowhere to be seen.

“They left at the start of that ramble,” Oliver says with a grin. She needs a moment to catch her breath after that because this one is so much more genuine than his previous one.

She nods slowly. “Yes. Your sister is meddlesome like that.”

They lapse back into silence, Felicity forcing herself to look anywhere but the muscles that inspired her babble. She finally has her hand back to herself, which she clutches to her chest, attempting to rid herself of the phantom fingers still rubbing circles on her skin.

Finally, Felicity can’t stew in her own thoughts any more. She has to ask the question that’s been on her mind since she found out who her soulmate was:

“So...what happens now?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! Sorry for the long wait, but I'm finally ready to start posting again! Rereading this chapter I really started second guessing myself, but oh well! Because here it is. I hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> This looks like it's going to be about 9 chapters. As of right now, I'm going to commit to posting a new chapter every 2 weeks. If I can keep writing at a decent pace, I might be able to surprise you with another chapter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this extra-long chapter!

**Chapter 4**

“Welcome home, Ollie,” Thea announces brightly, throwing open the double doors of the mansion with a gigantic smile.

He hobbles in on his crutches as his mother watches him warily. She pushes the wheelchair they insisted he have to not put his knee through undue stress. Healing over the past four years had been based purely on survival, on making it to the next fight, the next obstacle, the next challenge. Having the time to heal, to rest, it’s unreal and off-putting.

But not nearly as unsettling as the bright streamers, balloons, and welcoming cheer of “Surprise” that accosts him in the entry way, leaving him in shock as he takes in his surroundings. Lyla and Felicity are there, off to the side, like they didn’t see the need for the attention as soon as he walked in the door.

Tommy stands in the middle, arms out-stretched in a wide gesture that matches the width of his smile, if that was at all possible. There’s a tall, black man standing in the corner, looking terribly uncomfortable while struggling to put on a brave face. The most surprising thing though is Laurel Lance standing between the unknown man and Tommy, arms crossed over her chest and scowling at him.

So in actuality, the only people to yell surprise are Tommy and Thea.

“Hey!” He moves forward into Tommy’s embrace with a smile. He drops a crutch to pat his best friend on the back. “I missed you, buddy.”

“I missed you too,” Tommy whispers into his shoulder. “God, I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my life.”

He closes his eyes to savor his best friend’s presence for a moment before he pulls back. “Thank you, for all of this.” He glances between Laurel and the man he doesn’t recognize. He notices his mother stepped closer to the man but stays strategically just out of reach.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Laurel.” He thought they would be actively avoiding each other or openly hostile. He didn’t expect to see her here with even a slight chance of talking normally.

She purses her lips. “You’re not the only one. I’m just here to find out what happened to Sara.”

He nods, staring down at the marble floor at the flood of memories. The blonde woman scared out of her mind on an island where nothing was safe, the woman with the Arabic soulmark across her wrist, who struggled to survive. When she disappeared under water the second time, he had hoped she’d make it out alive. The only proof he had to support that belief was a similar tattoo on the wrist of a beautiful assassin he met in Russia.

It had been too quick a glance for him to be sure the tattoo was exactly the same, but it had been close enough that Oliver was sure the inky black mark meant Sara was still alive. He couldn’t give up that hope, and despite everything – or perhaps _because_ of it – he couldn’t deny Laurel that hope either.

“I know she made it off the boat, but we got separated. I don’t know where she is now, if she’s alive.” He bows his head as she takes a shaky breath, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t know more, sorry I took her with me.”

Laurel’s eyes harden again at the mention of the boat. “If you didn’t just get back from the hospital, I would deck you right now.”

He nods respectfully. “Well, I should be back to normal in a couple months, so let’s call it a rain check.”

Her eyes narrow, but she lets it go as Oliver’s eyes latch onto the man he doesn’t know, and he moves a small step closer with the crutches. His mom gets the hint, the two of them stepping forward in tandem, more in-sync than his parents – soulmates – had ever been.

“Oliver, this is Walter Steele. He took over as CEO after the _Gambit_ went down.”

She leaves it like that and Oliver reaches out, shaking his hand. He’s still missing something, some detail that he’s bound to find out eventually, that they want to keep from him until the last moment. There’s a lot they’re going to be throwing at him, a lot they’re hiding from him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Walter,” he says pleasantly before backing up and turning to the last two women in the room. Diggle’s joined them in the other corner. The excited anticipation on Tommy’s face as he glances back at Felicity, tells him that his friend knows. Laurel’s trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

“So, what’s the plan? I know I was on an island for four years, but I don’t think parties have changed this much in all that time.” He looks at the not quite celebratory group. This was definitely _not_ what he called a party, pre-island or otherwise.

“I figured we could use this time to catch you upon what’s happened.” Thea bounces in front of him. “Including, the story of how I met your _soulmate_.”

Laurel’s head jerks up at the words, darting over to Felicity and Lyla as understanding dawns. “What?” Her voice raises dramatically in pitch, deep-seated animosity fueling her ire. “Your _soulmate_? So that’s why the blonde bimbo is here? She’s his _soulmate_.”

Oliver’s fingers dig into the handles of his crutches as he twists back to face her, ready to tell Laurel off. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say: he barely knows Felicity outside of their meeting in the hospital. There hasn’t been time to talk, not without people watching. But that doesn’t matter because he knows he’ll defend her, whatever it takes. She’s dragged into this mess because of him. It’s the least he can do.

“Excuse me?” Felicity asks, suddenly beside him, a hand resting over his on the crutch, a foce of calm that pulls him back. Tension eases out of his body and he leans slightly into her. It comes naturally. He doesn’t even think about it.

“How exactly does the possibility that I’m Oliver’s soulmate turn me into a bimbo? You don’t know me, I don’t know you, so I’m going to ask you to withhold your judgment and I’ll withhold mine. Thanks!” She smiles politely, but there’s a chill in her voice.

Oliver ducks his head to hide a smirk. It’s hard not to be proud of his soulmate standing up to his ex-girlfriend. His hand moves to the small of her back, moving across her body to rest over her hip, over exactly where he knows her mark lies.

Part of him wants to slap himself. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be leaning into her, counting on her, _investing_ this much in her when they’ve known each other for all of two days. So why does he want to lean closer, to press a kiss to her temple, to hold her close and never let go?

Logically, Oliver knows he should pull his hand back, separate himself before he gets too attached, before he can inadvertently break her heart. The whole soulmate concept, the pull people talked about...he always assumed it was like the compulsive need to cheat he always felt, even when he was in that long term relationship with Laurel.

But this...this was different. It wasn’t lust he was feeling. It wasn’t even a driving need to kiss her, or hold her. He just wanted to be near her, the kind of want that could barely be restrained by willpower. It was strange and new, this longing for contact, for intimate talk, without the single-minded lust coursing through his system.

“Felicity, this is Laurel. Laurel, Felicity, my soulmate.” He rubs a thumb over her mark at ‘soulmate,’ enjoying her shiver at the word.

...

She doesn’t know what’s shifted since Oliver walked into the house, but it’s disconcerting how he can’t stop touching her.

It’s subtle: a hand on the small of her back, a touch to the back of her hand or her arm, a leg grazing hers, and – the most unsettling – a hand resting over her mark with unerring accuracy. To her consternation, Felicity enjoys the touches, leans into them, and yearns for his touch in its absence.

Not only that, but she returns his touch, rests her hand on his, leans towards him when he’s near, watches him when he’s not looking.

And on top of all the confusing feelings that leave her floundering, she’s surrounded by people who apparently love to smirk whenever they catch her or Oliver around each other. She’s practically a ticking time bomb of unintended innuendos and incessant babbles.

The last thing her stressed mental state needs is to be seated beside him at dinner, but of course, she is because everyone else in the room has accepted their impending relationship as fact. Felicity...she’s not so sure. There’s so much between them, including years when he struggled to survive. 

Some soulmates don’t make it.

She doesn’t want to be one of those sob stories. She wants this to succeed, but neither of them are ready. She knows it. He knows it. And yet they still dance around each other, drawn together by some unknown power...except she knows what it is: the soulmate bond.

“Felicity?”

She jumps in shock, upsetting her wine glass, which would have spilled if a certain muscle-y arm hadn’t reached out to right it. Snapped back to the reality of an awkward welcome back dinner, Felicity’s eyes dart around until they land on Moira who smirks in amusement at the head of the table.

“Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?” She asks, shaking her head to bring her focus back to the moment.

Thea snorts. She makes a valiant attempt to cover it up as a sneeze but ultimately fails miserably.

Moira smiles politely, even endearingly. “I was just saying that we need to host a press conference now that Oliver has returned.”

“Right...a press conference...” She’s definitely not ready for that. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not at all prepared for being out in public, not now, probably not ever.

“Yes. And I’d like you there with Oliver.”

“Um...”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mom,” Oliver disagrees, resting a hand on her knee so she doesn’t start freaking out.

She doesn’t know when he got to know her so well that they didn’t need to talk to communicate, but this doesn’t feel like guesswork. He’s responding to her like she responds to him and right now she wants to slam the brakes as hard as she can and get the hell out of this crazy scenario.

“Oliver-“

“Mom,” he sighs. “You’ve had time to get used to the idea, but Felicity and I need time to get to know each other. And I don’t think either of us want all the press attention.”

“Well, it can’t really be avoided,” Moira turns back to her food with an amused smile.

“For me, no, but we don’t need to drag Felicity into it.”

“She’s your soulmate, Oliver. The press is going to find out eventually,” She explains calmly with just a hint of exasperation as she cuts into the steak in front of her.

Felicity’s eyes dart back and forth, following the volley of words. 

“Just like I’ll find out about you and Walter sleeping together?”

She could hear the faint sound of Raisa down the hall in the kitchen as silence falls in the dining room and everyone’s plates are suddenly irresistibly intriguing. Felicity winces because awkward silences are her pet peeve, which would be fine if her go-to response wasn’t to fill it with unnecessary babble.

“Actually,” Moira starts at the same time Felicity blurts out: “They’re engaged!”

She squeezes her eyes clothes, prays she only imagined the outburst. Cracking an eye open, she knows that’s not the case. Oliver is very clearly assessing the situation, taking in his mother and Walter’s reaction to the revelation. Moira looks slightly peeved, but she manages a smile. Thea and Tommy avidly watch the interaction like its Prime Time television.

“Engaged?” Oliver repeats, forced levity even as his knuckles turn white with the force with which he holds his knife.

“Yes,” Moira answers placidly as she lowers her utensils so she can turn the full force of her attention on Oliver. Her hand reaches out blindly to clasp Walter’s. “Walter and I are going to be married.”

Felicity wraps her hand around Oliver’s arm – or wraps it around as much as she can since his arm is huge – to soothe him. The muscles relax slightly under her touch, but the tension doesn’t ease out of his shoulders this time. In mere minutes, he’s realized exactly what it took her weeks to figure out:

Walter and Moira are soulmates.

Thea talked about how hard it was to come to terms with the fact that her parents hadn’t been soulmates. She doesn’t imagine finding out everything you thought you knew about your family was a lie after the four years of hell Oliver’s been through could be remotely easy to understand. But the proof is right in front of them: two souls so in-sync they react and respond to each other without conscious thought.

Moira and Walter are the quintessential soulmate pair, the ideal image. It’s both undeniably romantic and annoyingly sickening. After months around them, Felicity has decided she most definitely prefers to spend time with Walter. Moira is too imposingly perfect. Walter’s just the right amount of imperfection to be far less intimidating. His ability to talk tech doesn’t hurt either.

She waits for Oliver to say something; they all wait with baited breath for his damning verdict. The jumping vein in his jaw tells her he wants to deliver it, but he swallows it down for a tight lipped smile, a nod, and a decisive statement:

“I’ll do the press conference, but we’re leaving Felicity out of it.”

...

“Thank you for coming here today,” Moira announces to the crowd of reporters and flashing lightbulbs.

Oliver’s not happy to be back in the monkey suit, the focus of the pictures with Digg standing sentry at his side instead of staying out of the limelight. Right now, he’s hyperaware that Felicity’s somewhere in the building behind him. Her presence pulls at him, like a magnet urging him in her direction, almost like there’s something more he could be doing to protect her, to keep her close. Sure, Lyla’s with Felicity, but he’s always trusted Digg more when it came to the protection of those closest to him.

“As you already know, my son, Oliver, has been recently returned to us.” She turns back for dramatic measure and Oliver wants to sigh. Now comes the posturing, the elaborate story – mostly invented – that the press will gobble up with a spoon.

This whole thing is a farce, a play put on for the cameras, and he wants no part of it. He forgot about the hoops he would have to jump through in public, the pressure of the cameras following him around constantly, the scrutiny he would undergo here that was never an issue in Russia.

This. This is why he couldn’t continue working with the Russians, why he formulated his plan so he wouldn’t need those connections to the Bratva, why his plan to save the city had changed. The press had factored into his plan while he was on the Island, but the reality of it is staggering.

He’s glad Felicity isn’t up here with them. She won’t have to face the thousands of questions about his playboy ways, at least, not yet. It astounds him that she looked through his file, saw what he did, and still didn’t distance herself from him as far as possible.

“We are happy to have him back,” his mother turns back to smile at him, “and we ask for our privacy as we deal with his return.”

“Mrs. Queen, care to address the rumors that your son’s soulmate is the reason he’s been returned to you?” A reporter shouts at his mother and she smiles benevolently down at him.

“Those rumors...”

“Are correct,” Oliver finishes. He steps up to the podium as his mother steps back. He lets them see his cane and the noticeable limp, playing up the pain for the steady flash of the cameras. That shot will to be on the cover of more than a few magazines and newspapers tomorrow morning.

“Mr. Queen!”

“Ollie, can you tell us-“

“Who is she?”

He holds up his hands to silence the crowd in front of him. They immediately fall silent, eager for whatever’s about to come out of his mouth.

“Until my soulmate and I become better acquainted, we thank you for giving us our privacy.” He nods to the crowd and turns to walk back to position. Sure his mother wants him to officially announce her name, but Oliver’s not about to give anyone who wants to look her up any more information. They can work for it, and he’ll be sure to stop them before they get too far.

“How about a name?”

“What’s she like?”

“Is she the blonde you sister was seen exiting the hospital with?”

He freezes at the question, and the other reporters die down at the sudden onset of new information. Oliver grimaces at his mother, who’s composure breaks for a millisecond. He turns back to the stage. “If she was, then that picture would be worth a great deal.”

They got a picture. He should have made sure they had been more careful. Now he needs to find that picture and get rid of it.

The redheaded woman who asked the question frowns in displeasure. “It would be,” she agrees.

Oliver breathes a little easier. If they had the picture, it would already be in the papers. They have nothing.

He plasters a grin on his face. “Well, I think we all know I have a thing for brunettes.” He feels dirty making the comment because he knows there’s a blonde in the building behind him who is fated to be with him. This is just to distract the press. It’s a move in a chess game.

The press chuckles, the red head looks peeved, and Oliver leaves them with a brilliant playboy smile and a wink. The expression slips off his face as soon as he turns around. Digg shoots him a sympathetic glance as his mother slips past him in exasperation to end the circus act.

“Thank you for your time and your continued respect for our privacy as we welcome our son back.” She nods to the cameras and leads the way off the stage to the chorus of questions and the flashing of cameras.

Oliver follows her into the building, Walter taking up the end of their line.

They make it all the way to the elevator without comment. It isn’t until Moira reaches in front of him and presses the button for the thirteenth floor that Oliver realizes this isn’t the end of it. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I thought we were going to the top floor,” he comments, already guessing where her interference is headed.

“Felicity’s office is on the thirteenth floor,” she comments, eyes straight ahead. “You’re going to take your soulmate out for a nice dinner tonight. There’s no need for you to go back to your philandering ways now that your soulmate is found.” This is the punishment for making a joke out of the press conference: she’s pushing the decision on him now instead of giving him a couple days.

He’s known she would push it on him since they brought Felicity to the hospital the night he came back. This isn’t something they let slip through the cracks. He can’t take this at his own pace: they won’t let him.

The doors slide open and he walks out without the push he knows she wants to give him. He slips a hand into his pocket as he turns to face his mother before the doors close, the other hand rests on his cane. “I don’t need you interfering.”

She smiles tightly. “Take her to dinner, Oliver.”

He rolls his eyes as the doors slide shut and turns to face the cubicles of the IT department.

“She’s right, you know?” Digg offers in a low whisper.

Oliver sighs. “I know.” He starts to hobble along. “I just hate dragging her into his mess.”

“She can handle it.”

He nods as he moves down the main row to the office at the far end. A few steps in, he realizes half the cubicles are empty. He exchanges a glance with Digg and they move a little faster towards the office, only to be distracted by voices in the break room.

They change directions, following the voices only for Oliver to come to a stop as he realizes the voices are talking about him.

...

Felicity’s torn between wishing everyone would go back to work and wanting to watch the press conference herself. Almost the whole department is crammed into the break room where the large flat screen TV rests. They’re not a huge department so it’s not that shocking, but she had thought there would be more restraint, that she would be able to ignore the conference and throw herself into her work.

Her hopes of focusing on other work were shattered when Maureen ran into her office gushing about how “flawless Oliver Queen looked in a suit,” and how she “had to see the man himself,” and how Maureen wished “he would come visit the IT department so she could feel those muscles in person.”

Felicity probably could have let it go if not for the fact that Maureen was talking about _her_ soulmate. She suddenly felt territorial, so she found herself leaning against the doorway of the break room as she watched the press conference with the rest of the department.

Moira spins her tale. Felicity was there for the prep session, so she knows this part already. It gives her time to survey Oliver in his suit. Maureen was right about something: He looked delicious in a suit. She knows from the hospital reports the layers of muscle Oliver’s suit hides, knows that they’re only seeing the pretty packaging.

She bites her lip, trying to pull her mind back from mentally undressing Oliver without much success. Did that man have to look that good?

“Who cares about this?!” Carrie shouts at the TV. She cuts of Moira’s story about Oliver’s rescue. “I just want to know what lucky bitch is soulmate.”

Felicity shifts, aware that Carrie represents public opinion. All the press wants is a name, a face to pin to the elusive soulmate that facilitated the return the city’s favorite son. Her hand drops to her necklace, slides the pendant along the chain.

“Shut it, Carrie. I want to hear this,” Jake protests, pointing to the TV. Next to him, Sean snorts and returns to his coffee. Jake scowls in return. “What? You think he survived for four years on an island without some horror stories?”

“I don’t think he’s going to share them with the press,” Sean comments. Felicity’s inclined to agree with him on that one. She doubts he’s going to share those with anybody. All she got was vague notes from the A.R.G.U.S. files from a man named Edward Fryers.

“I just want to know about the soulmate! You know whoever it is is going to be married into one of the richest families in the US,” Carrie declares loudly.

Maureen sighs next to Felicity. “Imagine that! Being soulmates with that hunk. I wonder what his mark looks like.”

Felicity almost reaches for her own mark, but pulls her hand back to cross her arms over her chest, as if to defend herself. She doesn’t like this talk, especially not when Oliver steps forward to confirm that his soulmate is, in fact, the reason why he’s returned right now.

Carrie sighs. “Now I would love to have a roll in the hay with him. Yum.”

“Well unless there’s something you’re not telling us, Carrie, you’re not his soulmate, so that’s not going to happen,” Sean counters.

The redhead turns to glare at him. “You never know. He was a serial cheater, after all. Who says his soulmate can keep up with so much...man.” Carrie squeals with glee as she turns back to the screen.

Felicity loses track of the conversation as the reporter asks about a blonde seen with Thea, a blonde that was most definitely her.

“I think we all know I have a thing for brunettes,” Oliver leers at the crowd, and it looks so fundamentally wrong, she feels uneasy.

“Looks like you’re out of luck, Carrie,” Jake jeers.

“Hair color is easy enough to change,” she responds dreamily, eyes locked on the TV as the press conference ends.

Felicity glares at the back of Carrie’s head, uneasy with the loon of the IT department latching onto her soulmate. God, she’s already possessive of the man. That can’t be a normal even for a soulmate bond.

“You have a problem,” Sean tells her, lip curled in disgust.

“But imagine just one day finding out that _Oliver Queen_ is your soulmate,” Maureen muses, “it’s a modern day Cinderella story.”

Felicity shakes her head. It’s her life they’re talking about, yet it sounds so outlandish when they talk about it like a fairy tale. She wouldn’t call her life a walk in the park. Plus, she doesn’t like the comparison to a woman who waits for a prince to save her. She did just fine on her own, She wasn’t need anyone to “rescue” her.

She walks to the counter, pours herself a cup of coffee.

“I wouldn’t have to work another day in my life.” Carrie smiles smugly.

Felicity snorts, rolls her eyes at the idea. Carrie might appreciate it, but there was no way Felicity could be idle all day. She needs to be doing something.

“Oh, so if your soulmate turned out to be rich, you wouldn’t dance for joy?” Carrie demands.

She turns to face the other woman, shrugging. “Isn’t the person more important than the money?”

“Let’s be real here,” Carrie turns to face her, “if you had the choice between a hobo and a billionaire, you would choose the billionaire, regardless of love.”

Felicity shrugs. “I’d like to think that’s not the case.”

“Everyone wants money. That’s not a crime.” Carrie smiles. “Besides, who doesn’t want to jump that billionaire’s body?”

“How about we all get back to work?” Felicity says with a forced smile. She doesn’t like them talking about Oliver so callously.

“What? Did I step on a nerve? Do you want to get in his pants, Smoak?”

“Well, I think we should get to know each other first.”

Every eye in the room locks on to Oliver in the doorway. He leans causally on his cane, an amused smile plays at the corners of his lips, and he locks eyes with Felicity.

“You’re...” Maureen stares at him wide-eyed in shock.

“Oliver Queen,” Carrie fills in with a smile. She steps forward, hand outstretched. “Hi! I’m Carrie Cutter. It’s a _pleasure_ to meet you.”

When Oliver doesn’t shake her hand, she moves to touch his arm. Only Digg stepping forward stops her advance. She pulls her hand back, but the brilliant smile remains.

“So, what can we help you with?” She asks in a voice as sweet as sugar.

“I’m here to see Miss Smoak about a,” his eyes lock on to hers and send her heart racing, “computer issue.”

It takes a moment for her to nod and gesture back down the hallway. “Sure. We can talk in my office.”

 She ignores the eyes on her, the lingering gazes of the other occupants in the room. It’s funny because now is the first time she ever really wished the walls of her office weren’t half glass. They’re going to have plenty of eyes on them for this conversation.

...

“So you saw the press conference?” Oliver shifts nervously, unwilling to sit even though standing is bothering his knee.

She nods. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He made a comment about preferring brunettes, he essentially wrote off a picture of her, and just ignored her existence completely.

“For not telling them anything about me,” she answers. She leans against her desk as she sips from the mug.

“I was an ass who declared he preferred brunettes.” He honestly doesn’t get it. How can she be so calm about it? In his experience with women, they weren’t usually this forgiving. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. This can’t be it. There has to be some king of backhanded compliment or some way he’s going to pay for it later. She frowns at him, not understanding. He should probably just accept it and move on, but he can’t help but point out the obvious: “You’re blonde.”

“I dye it,” she dismisses, then realizes what she just said. “Which you can _not_ tell anyone.”

His lips twitch of their own accord. “So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

Her head tilts are going to be his undoing. It shouldn’t be possible for her to look so cute in a simple motion.

“Oliver, you didn’t give my name to the press, which I am _extremely_ grateful for, by the way. Besides, that person wasn’t you.” She shrugs, like her words don’t shake him to his core.

He’s very obviously staring now, yet what else can he do. This woman he just met knows him well enough that she can just dismiss his public persona as just that: a persona. She says it so simply, so matter of fact, almost like it was obvious that he should know the answer.

She’s amazing, his soulmate.

She keeps surprising him. And it’s not just the smiles she manages to pull out of him when no one else can. Felicity doesn’t seem to expect anything from him, even though their marks were the same. She’s managed to take everything in stride so far.

“And don’t worry. They don’t have any photo evidence of Thea and me leaving the hospital.” She smiles over the rim of her cup, a sly glint in her eyes that he would love to see there again. “They had a little problem with their servers that spontaneously erased all their archived photos. It’s a pity they didn’t make any back-ups.”

“You...” He trails off at her smirk, unable to find the words to express himself. “Felicity, you are remarkable.”

“Thank you for remarking on it.”

He’s not sure if it’s the soulmate bond or just natural chemistry, and it doesn’t matter, because all he wants to do is kiss that teasing smile and pull her into his arms, the eyes on them be damned. Of course, he’s been attracted to women before, even confident women capable of greatness, but this is different. He doesn’t just want to take her to bed – and he definitely does want that too. He wants to get to know her, to talk to her, to spend time with her.

“Felicity, will you...” God, he should have practiced this before he asked. Now that her inquisitive blue eyes are on him, he can’t speak in a coherent sentence. “I mean, would you like...uh...what I mean to say is...would you like to go to dinner with me?”

Her eyes widen comically in surprise. “What?”

This is not how he pictured this going. He was going to be suave and she would immediately say yes. The last four years without normal social conventions must have hit him worse than he thought.

“I was wondering if you...wanted to...uh, go to dinner with me.” The words are stunted and stiff, like he’s asking against his will, which is definitely not the impression he wanted to give.

“Normally, I’m the one speaking in sentence fragments,” Felicity mutters, eyes wide in surprise.

Oliver huffs out a laugh, surprised from him in his shock. The tension in his shoulders immediately releases. “Is that a yes?”

She blinks as she finally realizes what he’s asking. “Wait! You mean, like a _date_ date? As in just the two of us?” Her eyes narrow. “Did your mother put you up to this?”

He chuckles then, smiling fully. “She pressed the button, but I was already on my way up here. Look, date date or not, it would be good to get to know each other. No expectations, just two people having dinner.”

Felicity contemplates him, eyebrows drawn together as she tries to figure him out. “No expectations?”

Oliver shakes his head with a slight smile, ignoring all the comebacks or cheezy one-liners he could deliver right now because he knows they won’t help, not with a woman like Felicity. She’s not swayed by his response, still looking nervous.

He takes a step forward and takes her hand, runs a finger over her knuckles because it just feels right.

“Forget soulmates, forget my family. It doesn’t have to be anything more than dinner. This is just me asking a beautiful woman to get food with me tonight.”

Her breath catches in the back of her throat at the contact, and that reaction has his own heartbeat speeding up. It thrills him as much as it terrifies him: that he has such an uncontrolled reaction to the woman in front of him.

“Okay.” She nods.

If she didn’t nod, he would have missed her answer and ended up staring at her for another minute.

“Okay?” The smile spreads across his face unbidden, her expression shifting to match as she nods. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Felicity nods again, biting her plump bottom lip. Unconsciously, he frees it with a swipe of his thumb. They both freeze as they realize how close they’re standing, how intimate their position is. Rationally, he’s aware he should move away, give her some space, yet he craves to get even closer, to close distance between them and press his lips to hers.

“Seven,” she agrees, voice breathy, barely there.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and takes a forced step back. He needs to put distance between them before he does something stupid. Were soulmates supposed to be this close? But he can’t bring himself to regret it. He always thought a soulmate would get in the way of his plans. He never anticipated someone like Felicity. And he wouldn’t change it for the world.

...

“Nope. This doesn’t work either,” Felicity declares, another dress tossed to the colorful pile in the center of her bed. “Why don’t I have anything appropriate to wear?!”

“Lis, you have more dresses than I do,” Lyla mutters, picking at the latest addition to the discard pile. “One of these has to work. You looked great in all of them.”

“But none of them are _the_ one.” Felicity falls on the bed.  “So many pretty things...and none of them work.”

Down the hall the door opens with a triumphant shout: “Never fear! Mellie is here!”

Lyla rolls her eyes. Her hand drops from the gun at her waist where it had jumped with the opening of the door.

“And I have the perfect dress!” Mellie sing-songs as she sashays into the room, a garment bag raised over her head. 

“And _we_ need to talk about who you give the keys to your apartment to,” Lyla mutters. She sits back in chair with a sigh.

Felicity smiles compassionately at the woman, who obviously doesn’t completely understand the girly ritual going on before her. She hops to her feet with more energy than she feels given the futile dress-search so far.

“Alright. What have you got for me?” She claps her hands, then opens her arms wide for whatever her best friend has in the bag. 

“I figured since it’s your first date with your soulmate, you should show off a little bit.”

Felicity’s not sure she likes the sound of that. Since their sophomore year in MIT, Mellie’s been asking her for the chance to give her a makeover. She’s kind of scared to see what Mellie managed to come up with after all this time.

Lyla whistles at the sight of the red dress and Felicity’s mouth falls open in shock.

“I’m not wearing that,” Felicity protests. Even from the hanger, she can see the cutouts crisscrossing the back of the dress, cutouts that wouldn’t allow a bra, cut outs that would reveal more skin than she’s ever shown in her life.

“Trust me. Just try it on.” Mellie shoves the dress at her, pushes her toward the bathroom to change. “That dress will leave him speechless.”

She kicks the door shut. Holding the dress in front of her body, Felicity stares at her reflection. She’d be lying if she said the color didn’t look good on her. Reluctantly, she peels off her robe and tosses aside her bra. The dress slides on like a second skin. It clings to her curves, curves she didn’t even know she had.

Even she has to admit Mellie has good taste. She turns sideways to get a better look at the mostly open back, skims down to look at her side where her mark lies under the dress. The fletching of the arrow peeks out just barely, something you would only notice if you were looking for it. When she moves, the mark peeks in and out.

Felicity smiles at the play of the edge of the dress with her mark. The open back leaves her exposed, but the dress makes her feel powerful. Maybe she _should_ let Mellie give her a makeover.

She steps out of the bathroom and Mellie squeals.

“OH MY GOD!! It looks better than I thought it would! Lis, you look AMAZING!” She yanks Felicity forward, dancing around her gleefully. “Oliver is going to LOVE this!”

Felicity blushes and turns to Lyla for a calming influence, instead Lyla stares at her, mouth open in awe.

“You look _fantastic_ ,” she whispers. “Do me a favor and don’t let John see you, okay?”

She rolls her eyes. With a twist, she faces the mirror to get another look at the dress. It really does work way better than she thought it would.

“And you have the PERFECT shoes!” Mellie disappears into her closet excitedly, and Felicity tries not to flinch at the noise of her friend going through her shoes. Oh, she knows her closet is a mess. Her shoes are mostly in a pile in the back of the closet. Honestly it’s lucky most of her clothes are on their hangers. Then again, her clothes have to be at least presentable for work.

“I don’t understand how you live in this mess. AHA! Got ‘em!” Mellie emerges from the closet in one place, holding her prize over her head. “Put them on!” She thrusts the nude heels in Felicity’s direction.

The shoes were a gift from her mother, one she’s rarely worn for lack of occasion. The mirror in front of her paints a beautiful picture as she looks at the final picture. She pulls the clip from her hair to let the curls cascade down her back.

Mellie lets out a low whistle. “Damn, girl! Maybe you shouldn’t go out like this.”

Lyla chuckles. “Please let me take a picture of Oliver when he gets here.”

Felicity smiles at her reflection, pleased with her appearance. It’s like armor. It might be too much for people just getting dinner to meet each other, but she doesn’t care. She likes this, likes feeling powerful and in control, like feeling beautiful.

She could get used to this.

...

He’s nervous.

It’s ridiculous because he’s Oliver Queen. He’s used to talking to women, used to flirting, used to interacting with people. Instead he’s fidgeting, playing with the cuff links. Thea’s already chewed him out for not telling Felicity they were going somewhere fancy, but it was too late. His mother had already reserved them a private room at one of the fanciest Italian restaurant in the city.

Now all that’s left is to pick her up, and to ignore the amused looks Digg keeps shooting him in the rearview mirror. Honestly, Oliver would rather be driving them himself, but apparently driving with a bum knee is frowned upon, at least by his mother.

He stares up at her building for a couple minutes, nerves rising with every twist of his cuff links.

“Are you going to sit here all night?” Digg finally speaks up, the laughter audible underneath his question.

He shakes his head, a deep breath, and then he opens the car door.

The interval between knocking and waiting for the door to open drags on for what feels like forever, long enough to make him rethink this, rethink giving into his mother’s demands. But as soon as the door opens, as soon as he spots Felicity in that red dress, he knows he wouldn’t make any other choice.

A camera’s flash goes off, but he couldn’t care less because Felicity’s smiling at him.

“You look...gorgeous.” The words come out in whispered awe, not strong and confident like he wanted. Because that dress is doing things to his insides. He can’t think straight.

“Thank you.” She takes a step into the hallway. She pulls the door shut behind her, the movement cutting Lyla and her camera off. “So...where are we going?”

Oliver grins. “How do you feel about Italian?”

...

Awkward. That’s the only way he can think to describe dinner thus far. Neither Oliver nor Felicity are ready for this dinner date. She knows so much about him and he knows nothing about her, which makes for an incredibly awkward start to dinner.

He orders them a bottle of wine. He hasn’t had anything to drink in the last four years except vodka when the mob required him to, but tonight, tonight he gets the feeling he’s going to need a little liquid courage.

She’s not talking, not even a babble. It only makes Oliver more nervous.

“So...,” He searches for something to say, anything to dissolve the tension, to stop him from thinking about how the soft skin of her back felt against the callouses of his palm when it came to rest on the small of her back. But Oliver abhors small talk. He can’t just talk about nothing.

“Sorry,” Felicity interrupts, leaning forward. “I can’t just...talk about something inane. I know a bizarre amount about you, but nothing at all. And this just...feels...”

“Awkward,” Oliver offers with a smile at the mini-babble. “Nerve-wracking. Terrifying.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure that a date is worse than four years in terrible circumstances.”

“What’s terrifying is that it feels right,” he tells her, reaching out to grasp her hand on top of the table, thumb caressing her knuckles. Oliver realizes what he’s doing and pulls back. “But I’m too damaged. You deserve better.”

It hurts him to speak like that, but he knows the words are true, that he can’t be what she needs him to be, no matter how much he wants to. It’s like a knife through his chest or an arrow to the knee, which is something he has experience with. He doesn’t want her out of his life after meeting her, but he can’t drag her into this. He _can’t_.

“Well, then it’s too bad that you’re stuck with me,” she concludes, taking a sip of her wine. It’s amazing how that one confession has her loosening up. Felicity’s uncurling, like suddenly she understands one facet of him, one aspect that she can deal with, a piece of the puzzle figured out.

Oliver blinks at her, not understanding.

“Obviously, we have to keep up appearances for your family, but we don’t have to be _sleeping_ together. At least, I’m pretty sure your mother or sister won’t check on that.” She contemplates it for a moment. Oliver’s still lost. Where is she going with this?

“But you’re not done. You, Digg, Lyla...you guys still have a job to do, to clean up Starling, and I want to help.”

He freezes at her declaration. A single glance at the unwavering gaze tells him she’s dead serious. Oliver’s already shaking his head as he processes the answer. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“I already know everything. I can’t go anywhere without a bodyguard. I’m pretty sure Lyla and John both know me better than they could ever want to. So, use me...my skill set, I mean. I’m good with computers, spyware, mechanics. Ask Lyla. I can help you.”

“No.”

“Oliver, come on! You could do so much good for this city! That’s not something I can walk away from.”

“You’re not getting involved in this.” That’s one thing he will not allow. His girl will _not_ be pulled into any more danger. Or his plan.

She leans forward, glare fixed on him. “My life. My choice.”

God, he wants to kiss her right now. It’s frustrating as hell, but her standing up to him is turning him on. Especially with that fire in her eyes.

“Your ties with the Bratva are tentative at best, right now. You’re too close to the spotlight to be of use to them. If you want to keep helping your city, you have to do something else. And you don’t seem like the kind of person to wait. So, you could use as many allies as possible. I’m good at what I do. I can help you, help you find another way.” She reaches out, wrapping his hand in hers. “Let me help you, Oliver.”

He stares at her hands around his. A slight twist and his hand grasps hers. He wonders if he’s losing his mind as he opens his mouth and tells her about a plan, a plan that involves a green hood and a bow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies now for any errors. I had a whole plan to edit and then post, but today was kind of a whirlwind, so I'm just gonna leave this here. 
> 
> NOTE: There is a change in rating!

**Chapter 5**

“Oliver, are you sure about this?” Felicity asks for what feels like the thousandth time as she stares at her computer screen.

_“Felicity, would I be standing on a rooftop in the cold if I wasn’t sure?”_ Oliver’s voice comes in clear over her comms.

She sighs, looking around the cold basement and rubbing her hands together. Her favorite, warm sweater doesn’t quite cut into the chill of the basement Oliver chose as their base of operations. Two months preparing as Oliver’s knee healed, and they hadn’t thought to bring a space heater down here.

The cold might be good for the servers she assembled in the corner, but it was not good for the IT guru sitting in front of the computer screens. Of course, Oliver the Human Furnace has no problem with the cold, so Felicity’s left to bundle up.

Honestly, it was nice after the workouts Oliver gave her...

Felicity winces. “Even in my mind, I make inappropriate comments,” she mutters. Oliver was teaching her basic self-defense. That’s all. It was completely innocent...much to her chagrin. She learned first-hand that watching your hunk of a soulmate perform physical feats sorely tests her restraint.

Oliver had been careful about keeping his shirt on, not exposing any more skin than necessary. Scars cover his body: she’s caught glimpses of them, but she hasn’t crossed that line where she asks about his mark. It’s a topic they’ve studiously avoided on this whole entire endeavor.

_“Felicity?”_

She shakes her head. Right. She’s supposed to be working. Tonight’s their first night, their trial run. If all goes well, they can move on to bigger fish. “On it. I’ve got a call into 9-1-1 about a home invasion at 47 Rondell Street.” She flicks through the police notifications. “Or, if you want something simpler, I’ve also got a couple of calls about suspicious individuals hanging around a grocery store on Glacier Street.”

_“Alright. What can you tell me about the home invasion?”_

Felicity pulls up the information on another screen. She may or may not have gained access to a Queen Consolidated satellite in the last month. The company belonged to Oliver’s family so it wasn’t really stealing, right?

Anyway, she was living in the morally grey area right now, what with the vigilante activities they were perpetrating right in this moment.

“I’ve got seven heat signatures in the house. The house is owned by a Samuel Grady. Four of those signatures are the family, which means three invaders. No details on the invaders. The call seems to have been made by the oldest son, who’s eleven. Police are twenty minutes out.”

_“Got it.”_

Felicity turns to the map pulled up on another screen, watches the blinking red dot race to the address as Oliver lapses into silence. He doesn’t talk: he’s too focused. He doesn’t like frivolous words, which includes over the comms.

Instead, she mutes her end of the comms and switches on her music, humming along to Florence and the Machine. Felicity lets her eyes track Oliver’s progress in the map so she doesn’t have to listen to the thuds and smacks of his fight.

So sue her, she gets worried. Oliver just barely got the all-clear from the doctor and he’s running across rooftops and fighting criminals. This is so far out of the realm of normal, that she’s pretty sure it’s okay to be worried.

Besides, everything’s going fine so far.

_BANG!_

Felicity jumps at the loud noise in her earpiece, a noise that forces everything else to the background as she blindly reaches to turn on her comm unit. “Oliver? What was that?”

No answer.

“OLIVER!!”

For three painful seconds she contemplates the worst. He’s probably there, bleeding out. The police are going to find him. The whole situation can only go from bad to worse. She’s about to send a frantic call to Digg, her finger hovers over the button when the comm crackles back to life.

_“I’m here! I’m here, Felicit”_ His voice is raspy, full of pain. _“I don’t think I’m going to be checking out the kids on Glacier.”_    

“Are you shot?” Her voice rises in pitch to a squeak she’s never made before.

_"It’s just...a graze. I’m coming in.”_

Felicity glance back at her phone and John’s number under her thumb. A bullet wound. Oliver was shot.

She spins to the med bay Oliver insisted they set up. The only things she knows how to use in there are the band-aids. And the gauze. But she’s never really done very well with needles. And by very well, she means she’s terrified of needles. They’re only slightly less scary than kangaroos, but that’s a whole other thing.

Oliver finds her minutes later in the middle of the space they’ve set up, eyes fixed on the med station. The noise of the door has her turning, and before conscious thought can take over, she’s already checking him over. Felicity zeroes in on his arm and the blood that leaks out in stark contrast to the green leather.

“Oh, God! You’re bleeding!” She swallows the bile that rises in the back of her throat to help him slide the green jacket off his arm.

“It’s a through and through. It’s easy enough to stitch up.”

She can hear the strain in his voice, but the next thing she knows he’s got a needle threaded and is struggling to stitch together the hole on one side of his arm. Just the sight of the needle unsettles Felicity’s stomach, yet as she watches him struggle with the third stitch, she steps forward.

She almost loses her cool as she pushes the needle through the first bit of skin. It’s surprisingly resistant to the needle as she works, concentrating on closing the wound rather than the task itself. She’s never sown a person up before, but so far it’s not that much different from her Brownie Girl Scout patches.

Oliver hands her an antiseptic wipe as she finishes, and Felicity wipes up the blood, thankful to let Oliver handle putting away the needle. Only as she steps away does she realize this is her first glimpse of him shirtless.

And man, is he unbelievably fit. She wants to reach out and run her hand over his carved abs, memorize every raised scar on the muscled landscape. Naturally, her eyes drift to the spot on his side, the expanse of skin where her mark sits in black ink.

It’s not there.

The mottled flesh that covers the area sends a tear down her cheek, her hand rests against the spot without a conscious thought to direct it. The mark, _her_ mark, was erased from his skin, becoming instead another scar on his body. The thing that connects them isn’t there. It’s like it never existed.

Oliver rests his hand over hers on his side, and her eyes flit up to meet his in surprise.

“On the Island,” he whispers, “there was a man who told me the best thing for me to do was destroy the mark so it couldn’t be used against me. I didn’t believe him until a year later when I saw a man use soulmarks to destroy people. So I melted it myself.”

She grows somber at the information as she imagines him cold and hungry, desperate enough that he thinks the only way out was to injure himself. He did it to protect her before they even met.

“Hey.” He cups her cheek to bring her eyes back to him. “This mark comforted me those years I was on the Island. And destroying it then protected you from A.R.G.U.S. when they took me to China. It was the right choice.”

Oliver shivers as Felicity runs her fingers lightly over the mottled skin again. Slowly, she runs her hands over his exposed chest, lost in the muscles that jump under her hands. The scars are just another part of the landscape, another thing that makes Oliver who he is.

It hits her a second later what she’s doing, and she pulls her hands back. Her eyes lift to Oliver’s to apologize, but she can only swallow when she sees the desire stirring in his eyes, desire she’s sure is mirrored in her own.

She doesn’t act on the desire but neither does she step back to put distance between them, instead, she lifts her own shirt. She twists to give him a better view of the mark, _their mark_. He reaches out tentatively to give her a chance to change her mind, to step out of reach.

She draws in a shaky breath as he touches the mark for the first time, running his thumb across her skin. Gently, he pulls her closer as he inspects her mark; a look of wonder fills his face. Her eyes don’t leave his face, carefully taking stock of his reaction, of the awe and reverence she finds there.

Her hand cups his cheek. The scruff there scratches her palm and sends a shiver down her spine. She’s not thinking about it anymore, just acting. Her touch draws his face back up. He’s only a couple inches away. His breath fans her face, and all she wants to do is lean forward, close the between them.

He pulls her closer by his hand on her waist, the hand still pressed on her soulmark. He seals his lips to hers, presses them against hers in a chaste kiss.

Felicity’s mind short circuits. For once, the internal babble stalls, wiped out by the kiss combined with the circling of his thumb on her mark.

She takes a step closer, a step into his embrace. Her stance shifts to match his, her other hand lowering to his side where his mark used to sit. She gasps as he pulls her flush against his bare chest, and he takes advantage of that opening. Tongues tangle as the kiss turns dirty. He nips at her bottom lip and Felicity groans, deepening the kiss further.

Oliver’s hands tighten around her waist, and he easily lifts her into the air, pulling him onto the table. Her legs fall to either side of his so she’s straddling him.  His hands slide up her sides under her shirt, her chest pressed against his bare one.

Felicity’s arms wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as possible as soft lips and rough scruff navigate a path down to her shoulder, brushing clothes out of the way to keep contact with her skin. She presses kisses to every bit of skin she can reach, little sounds coming out of her unbidden.

He’s lifting her shirt up when the shrill ring of a phone brings them shockingly back to the reality of making out on the cold med table.

Oliver’s arms on her waist are the only things that keep her from falling backwards off the table. She clutches him as she catches her breath, reeling from the make-out session. Felicity relaxes into his embrace as he catches his breath, forehead resting against her shoulder.

The phone continues to ring next to her computers across their little base. The tinny sound reverberates around the open space, echoes off the concrete walls until it ends abruptly.

It’s only then, right before the ringing starts up again, that Oliver pulls back to look her in the eyes. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, and the emotion swirling in them steals her breath...and her entire thought process.

She doesn’t know how he has the mental capacity to reach out and grab his phone from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

His low, husky voice does funky things to her insides, especially as he’s not pulling away.

“Yeah, Felicity’s with me,” he tells the person at the other end of the line.

Their compromising position finally sinks in. She tries to move off Oliver’s lap as he’s distracted. She underestimates the distance from his lap to the ground  and ends up clinging to Oliver’s arm with a yelp.

He chuckles warmly, right in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Yeah, Digg, she’s here with me...Sure, we’ll meet you there...Bye.”

Once again steady on his lap, still held tight in his arms. She knows she should move from his lap, maintain the distance they’ve managed to keep between them so far.  Her body, however, has some other ideas, and so does his based on what she feels through his jeans.

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” Oliver growls, gripping her tightly to hold her in place. Unfortunately his hand presses into her mark and draws a gasp from her. She leans forward for another kiss.

This time it’s chaste, a calming touch of lips that ends too soon as Oliver pulls back. He lifts her again, lowering her to the ground, wincing as the movement pulls his new stitches. The only reason he managed to pick her up earlier was because he was otherwise occupied.

“Are you...” Her hand reaches up to check the stitches on his upper arm, check to make sure he’s not bleeding again.

Oliver hops off the med table, keeping her in the circle of his arms. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes latch on to his, stare into the depths of his blue eyes, gets lost in the love she finds there, love she didn’t realize was there until just now. Sure she’d felt it growing over the past couple months, yet acting on it, is new and definitely preferable.

“We need to go meet Digg and Lyla,” he reminds her gently, hands still resting on her hips, not showing an inclination to move.

“We do,” she agrees. “Which means you need to put on a shirt...and change your pants.”

 He laughs and finally takes a step back. “Then I guess I should change.”

...

  It takes Oliver longer than normal to change as distracted as he is with Felicity’s vanilla perfume lingering on his skin, the memory of her body pressed against his fresh in his mind. He shouldn’t have let the situation get out of hand, yet he doesn’t regret it for an instant. In fact, he wants more, and this is the first time he’s actually willing to admit it.

It’s going to be harder to keep his distance now that he knows the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin, the way she reacts to his touch. It’s like a drug, a drug he struggled to avoid and finally tried. They say all it takes is one hit, and it certainly seems true at the moment.

Oliver’s glad for the foresight in bringing extra button down shirts down to their little base of operations. His stitches aren’t bothered as he slips his arm into the sleeve as opposed to what would have happened had he tried to pull on a t-shirt.

He takes a deep breath and exits the little bathroom. His eyes find her leaning over her computers as she shuts them down, the same way she methodically does every night. It’s bizarrely domestic the way he knows her movements almost as well as his own. 

“Ready?” He asks quietly. A hand reaches out to graze the small of her back to let he know he’s there, right behind her

She nods, grinning up at him as she grabs her jacket. He slips his hand into hers. It feels natural, feels right, like her hand fits perfectly into his, like their hands are meant to be clasped together. His mind understood the practicality of distancing himself from her, but that was a memo his body had desperately ignored.

They reach the alley and he passes her a black helmet as they reach his Ducati.

“You know, it’s starting to get a little too cold to ride your bike everywhere,” She secures her jacket, a tug pulls it tighter around her before she slips the helmet over her head. “Besides, this helmet is not good for my hair.”

The helmet muffles her voice, yet is still unable to hide the upward tilt of her head as she looks at him through the darkened visor.

Oliver smiles. He adjusts her scarf to cover more of her exposed skin.  He doesn’t want her to be cold. “Guess it’s time to polish the car.”

She snorts. “Or get your manservant to polish the car, little rich boy.”

He grins at the teasing lilt in her voice. If she wasn’t wearing her helmet, he would kiss her right now. Instead he dons his own helmet and straddles the bike. With an outstretched arm, he assists Felicity as she climbs on behind him. She slides close, arms wrapped tightly around his middle – probably the only reason he’s still driving the motorcycle in this weather, if he’s completely honest. He’s craved her attention for longer than he presently wants to admit.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” She jokes through the Bluetooth headset of the helmet.

 Oliver chuckles, more a rumble in his chest that he knows she can feel. “David is the one who takes care of the cars, so you’re not wrong.”

She hums in agreement and rests her head against his back. 

He turns the motorcycle to her apartment where Digg and Lyla are waiting for them. It’s preferable to the mansion where there are eyes and ears always nearby. Oh, he definitely prefers it for security reasons – and he’s spend several nights on the couch so Felicity could stay somewhere safe while the Diggles took a night off, which would be why his mom thinks they slept together and why she takes every opportunity to hint at a wedding. This morning he came downstairs to a ring box and a portfolio of the pieces of jewelry in the Queen vault.

Oliver isn’t sure what the rush is, but it’s harder and harder to put his mother off the idea.

“We’re going to need to talk about what happened in the Foundry,” she whispers as wraps herself around him a little more.

He sighs as he rounds the corner. “I know.”

“If something changed...” she shifts behind him, nerves evident in the fiddling of her fingers. “Or not. I get it. It was just in the moment. Adrenaline was running high. We just...reacted. It never has to happen again.”

The bike comes to a rather abrupt stop in front of her apartment right behind her red mini cooper. He twists in the seat to face her as she climbs off the motorcycle. He’s not going to let her walk away from this with the wrong idea.

“Felicity, that wasn’t a mistake. I might have been the wrong time, but it wasn’t a mistake. I could never regret kissing you.” He pulls his helmet off and dumps it unceremoniously on the ground. Hers joins it a second later because he needs to look into her eyes for this.

His hands cup her face, his thumbs stroke her cheeks, and he lightly nudges her chin up. Her eyes bore into his, blue eyes full of trust if not a little apprehension. Oliver’s thumb runs over her plump bottom lip as he leans back in.

“If we didn’t have to worry about the Russian mob, or the state of the city, I would’ve kissed you a long time ago.” And that’s his logic: if they weren’t in the middle of a war on crime, if they weren’t in danger every day, is _she_ wasn’t in danger just by being associated with him...that’s what he told himself almost every day since meeting the amazing woman in front of him. He’s kept her at a distance to protect her.

But that mark, the ink on her skin reminded him that it doesn’t matter because they’re already bound together. His mark might not be visible, might only ever continue to exist in a couple of pictures, but it’s still the one thing that binds them, that puts her in danger. And he can’t change that mark or that bond with any force of will or desperate move. She’s his and he’s hers.

“But nothing’s changed.” Felicity concludes.

The thought is so staggeringly different from his internal monologue that it takes him a moment to realize he didn’t say any of those things out loud. That moment is all she needs to pull away and start walking to her apartment door. 

He jogs to catch up, and spins her back to him with a tug on her arm. “You didn’t let me finish.”

She doesn’t let him pull her in this time, her way of resisting the intense chemistry between them. He resorts to simply taking hold of her hands.

“Everything has changed.” He takes a deep breath to buy the time he needs to find the right words to explain his frame of mind. “Felicity, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. In the past couple of months, you’ve proven to be the strongest, kindest woman I’ve ever met. And those reasons I mentioned earlier, they were just excuses. I don’t want to hide behind excuses anymore.”

Hope dances in her blue eyes. It steals the breath from his lungs and the words from his lips. How is he supposed to think when she looks so beautiful?

He brushes a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.

“So what do you say to actually dating? And kissing...lots of kissing,” he mutters as his mind travels back those moments tangled up together in the Foundry. He knuckles brush her cheek and he’s suddenly closer than he was a couple seconds ago.

She smiles, a smile that radiates pure joy, as her arms come to rest at the back of neck where she can pull him down to her level. “I think that sounds fantastic.”

His lips find hers as she surges up into him and he gets lost in her. Oliver doesn’t let it get out of hand this time. He keeps his hands from wandering, leaves one cupping her cheek and the other on the small of her back. He’s more than a little aware of the face that Digg and Lyla wait for them just inside the building.

He senses more than sees the door to her apartment open, but he does hear the huff of exasperation from John as he catches sight of them. Well, they can’t put off meeting with the Diggle’s any longer. So he pulls back from Felicity. His eyes lock with her when they flutter open, and he feels no small amount of pride that he’s the one who put that blissful look there.

“Really?” Diggle asks, unimpressed. “That’s what took you so long?”

Noticing Digg for the first time, Felicity flushes bright red. “How long have you...” She gestures, apparently unable to finish her sentence in her mortification.

“Long enough,” he responds gruffly. “Come on. We need to talk.”

Oliver lets Felicity precede him into the apartment. John notices his hand on her lower back, but he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. It’s the closest look Oliver will ever get to approval from the bodyguard. Felicity has them all wrapped around her little finger. John and Lyla would side with her against him, even though they’ve known him longer. He can’t really blame them since she did the same thing to him.

Oliver perches on the arm of the couch, across from Lyla’s chair. “How are you feeling, Lyla?”

She glares at him. One hand rests on her swollen belly, yet the knowledge that she can’t chase him down doesn’t make her less frightening. “Like punching the next person who asks me that question.”   

He nods solemnly. He doesn’t want to be the one on the other side of her fist, even pregnant she could still pack a punch. And she would punch him too.

“So what do we need to talk about?” Oliver asks.

“How about this?” Diggle asks, dropping a stack of pictures on the coffee table.

Felicity picks them up, sifts them, but Oliver takes one look at the black pictures and green hood: he knows why they’re here. Waller recognized the hood and probably said something to John or Lyla. As far as he knows neither of them had seen the hood before.

“Care to explain why Waller just called us up demanding to know why you were running around Starling in a green hood shooting arrows into people?” Digg crosses his arms, ready for the possible confrontation.

“Digg, I don’t know wh-“

“Don’t lie to me, Felicity. We know you know about this. That’s the only reason any of this makes sense.” He frowns at her, the disappointment prevalent in his gaze. “And believe me, Waller has plenty of questions about the computer hacker working with Oliver. Honestly, you’re lucky it’s us and not a team of highly qualified A.R.G.U.S. agents. Now talk!”

Felicity sinks back into the couch with an annoyed scowl. She wouldn’t be here if it was up to her, she would find a way to talk herself out of this situation, a way to confuse them and separate herself. Oliver doesn’t doubt she could do it. He’s seen her work miracle as they sorted through his father’s list of names, made connections, and figured out how to take the players out once and for all.

It’s his decision to tell them now. He knows John and Lyla, can work with them as tactical support without issue. Lyla’s pregnancy and the position it would put them in with A.R.G.U.S. had caused him to keep them away from the whole situation. Since Waller knew, it doesn’t seem like too big of an issue at the moment.

“I’m,” he shakes his head and corrects himself, “ _We’re_ helping clean up the city, righting my father’s wrongs.”

“By playing Robin Hood?” Lyla looks decidedly unamused from the armchair. The gun she rests on her thigh just adds to that impression.

 

“He’s not Robin Hood.” Felicity scoots forward on the couch, her hands wave through the air in her enthusiasm. “This isn’t a stealing from the rich to give to the poor scenario. Oliver’s just been helping people: stopping muggings, rapes, robberies, home invasions...that kind of thing.”

Unimpressed, Digg continues to survey them, face impassive. He takes a deep breath and massages the bridge of his nose. “So, you’re telling me that you’ve been doing this almost every night since you’ve been back.”

“Not since I’ve been back,” Oliver evades, unable to resist. “I was injured for a little while, Digg.”

Lyla snorts behind her husband. “Alright, Wise Guy, cut it out. It wasn’t until yesterday that you got cleared for physical activity, so please tell me you haven’t been doing this for the last month like Waller thought you were.”

Oliver stares impassively back, not bothered to confirm or deny.

“Really, Oliver?” She asks rather sharply, her irritation once again evident in her bearing. “You could have injured yourself further.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.” He holds his arms open wide. His arm twinges at the movement, a shock of pain he struggles to hide behind his nonchalant smile.

The conjoined disapproval of the other soulmates in the room hits him like a physical blow, a blow with so much force behind it Oliver shifts so he now sits squared off against them. Next to him, Felicity nervously chews her lower lip.

Silence fills the room. No one seems to know what to say next, what to do with the information now out in the open. Felicity opens her mouth to speak at one point, but Oliver stops her with a hand on her arm. He’s still not sure how much John and Lyla want to know, how much they need to know. So he waits, as they try to figure out the answer to those questions.

“Are you going to show it to us or not?” Lyla finally demands from the chair that is more throne than chair at the moment.

“Sure you don’t want plausible deniability?” He throws back.

“Just take us there,” John adds, more than exasperated with the run around.

“This isn’t me working for A.R.G.U.S. Just so we’re all clear. This is my own agenda.”

The Diggles nod and Lyla shoves her gun back into its holster. “Show us the damn place already, Queen.”

A quick glance with Felicity to know they’re on the same page, and the mismatched group heads back out of Felicity’s apartment.

...

This is either going to end terribly or wonderfully, and while Felicity isn’t sure which, she can’t stop fidgeting from the moment they leave her apartment to the moment they enter the condemned building Oliver insists he can turn into a successful nightclub. Honestly, she can’t really see it, but then she’s never been one for clubbing anyway. Lyla and John look just as skeptical of their surroundings as they edge around the pile of debris and garbage that still need to be cleared away.

Oliver walks right up to the door and punches the code into the keypad, without any hesitation, no faltering, no moment to make sure he feels comfortable with this decision. Instead, he pulls the door open and waves the newcomers in before him. He locks eyes with Felicity then and offers a nod of encouragement before she too passes him to enter their secret headquarters.

The lights come on as they enter, a feature Felicity only recently added after tripping down the stairs one too many times in the dark. The new lights are also probably why the Diggles stop halfway down the stairs to ogle the redone basement.

“Welcome to the Arrow Cave,” Felicity announces into the echoing silence. Three sets of eyes find her immediately.

“We don’t call it that,” Oliver corrects.

She shrugs. “I do...sometimes.”

“Stop.”

She would take the words more seriously if he didn’t grin at her with amusement dancing in his eyes, so she simply smiles back at him, content to ignore the butterflies his expression gives life to in her stomach. She wants to kiss him again, but it takes most of her focus to not relive the last make out session they had down here less than an hour ago.

It does help that she knows she can kiss him whenever she wants now. This just seems like an inopportune moment with the whole show-the-Arrow-Cave-to-Lyla-and-John thing.

And man does she wish they were alone...

Felicity shakes her head, promptly dragging herself back to the present situation.

“Impressive.” Lyla finishes walking down the stairs.

John lets out an appreciative whistle as he follows his wife down the rest of the stairs.

“Some of this stuff is almost better than the A.R.G.U.S. home office,” Lyla whispers, running her hand over the worktable.

“Almost?” Felicity demands, offended on behalf of her state-of-the-art machines. Her computers were art.

Lyla chuckles. “They have stuff that hasn’t been released yet.”

She snorts. “Which they probably aren’t even taking full advantage of.”  She has a full-length ramble prepared,  a bubbling up of words on the incompetency of government agencies when it comes to technology, but John cuts her off sharply.

“Is that blood?”

Felicity’s head immediately jerks to the med table. She remembers cleaning up before they left...right? Her brain was sort of mush after that make-out session. Sure enough, bloody gauze and the stitch kit are scattered over the table, a couple pieces even knocked to the floor.

“Um...,” Felicity mutters.

Digg advances on Oliver. “This is why you don’t go into the field without back up!”

“It was a simple bullet wound. I’m fine.”

Felicity notices that despite his words, Oliver doesn’t shrug or reveal his wound. She grabs the wastebasket from her computer and quickly sweeps the gauze away. She reaches for the stitches, prepared to remove the last remaining evidence when Oliver’s hand swept it away and into the drawer.

“Oliver, all it takes is the wrong move at the wrong time, and you could have died.” John pins him with a look. Felicity’s happy not to be the focus of that particular gaze. That joy only lasts a second before Digg turns his stern look to hers. “Felicity might be good with computers, but she’s not tactical backup.”

She offers a guilty smile.

“I didn’t want to get you two involved. This isn’t an A.R.G.U.S.mission. This is me honoring my father’s memory. You don’t need to be a part of it.”

Felicity steps up beside Oliver to provide a united front, because sure Oliver can be rash and act without thinking, but he has a point. And she promised to be with him the whole way even as he swore up and down that if things went south she wouldn’t go down with him. What with their operation being illegal and all that...

“You dragged an innocent girl who couldn’t protect herself into this _without_ back up! We’ve been working together for the past year, and you didn’t think Lyla and I would want to get involved?”  Diggle’s voice strays into dangerous territory, even Felicity recognizes that. He’s moments away from drawing his gun.

“You don’t want to be on Waller’s bad side, Digg. Trust me: I’ve been there. It’s not a pleasant place to be.”

“And risking Felicity’s life?” Digg brandishes a finger in her direction. “You put your _soulmate_ in danger!”

“She’s already in danger, Digg. I’m involved with the Russian mafia! As soon as the press gets wind of the fact that Felicity’s my soulmate, it’ll be a bidding war for a photo. She’ll become a target _because of me_. At least when we’re going this, I know she’s safe down here.”

Having enough of being treated like a valuable trinket that needs protecting, Felicity pushes Oliver back by the chest as she moves between them. “First off, I don’t need protection every hour of every day. I might not be a soldier but I can protect myself just fine for a night. And I sure as hell can make my own choices.”

Both men continue to indulge in their stare down without a single acknowledgement.

“HEY!”

They start at her shout and then lower her eyes to stare at the petite woman between them.

“My life, my choice: remember?”

She looks them both in the eyes, face set in a scowl until they nod their comprehension.

“Good.” She grins and moves to her computers.

Lyla chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t think we need to worry about your girl.”

Felicity grins up at the other woman. 

“Now we just need to work on your self-defense.”

Felicity grimaces as Lyla pats her on the back: Lyla will definitely be a tougher teacher than Oliver.

...

It doesn’t even last a day.

Oliver groans at the tabloid that greets him and Felicity when they walk into the kitchen for breakfast after a long night catching the Diggles up on their Arrow operation. They had both gotten only a couple hours of sleep – thankfully both in his bed because if he had slept on the couch again he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep – so Oliver was marginally more awake to deal with the picture plastered on the front of said magazine than he could have otherwise been.

His mom grins at them like someone had just dropped a sure investment in her lap. He’s sure they make quite a picture: him in low-slung sweatpants and a sweatshirt partially zipped but low enough to show off a significant portion of bare chest, and Felicity drowning in one of his shirts, only lazily tucked into a pair of short shorts in the front, her long legs gloriously on display.

“Long night?” Thea asks. She bounces on the balls of her feet by the breakfast bar.

Felicity sleepily trudges past him to steal Thea’s coffee.

Oliver picks up the magazine. There are three pictures, taken outside her apartment last night. The largest one is of them holding hands in front of her building. There’s another of them getting off his bike, the last a close up of their kiss.

“What I don’t get is why you came back here last night, unless you knew they were taking your picture?” Thea smirks at Oliver over her reclaimed mug as Felicity pours herself her own cup.

She freezes with the cup halfway to her lips. “What picture?”

He hesitates, unsure how she’ll react, but it’s not like he can keep it hidden, and they knew this would happen eventually. So he hands her the magazine and steals her coffee as she examines it. Oliver pauses for a moment as the bitter taste of black coffee hits his tastebuds. He never paid strict attention to how Felicity took her coffee, only knew that she required a coffee machine down in the Foundry. Since she never bought creamer, he supposes it makes sense.

“That’s...” She looks up at him with wide eyes. “That’s outside my apartment.”

 “Yup,” he agrees, handing back her mug of coffee. “We’ll need to take Digg to pick up some clothes from your apartment. There are probably reporters and paparazzi camped out there already.  It’s probably best you stay here for a while.”

Robotically, she lifts the mug to her lips, sipping the contents. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

 “They don’t have your name yet, but it won’t be long,” Moira announces with a smile, like this is the perfect opportunity, like she has all of this planned. Knowing his mother, she probably did. “I’ve already called Queen Consolidated. A press conference has been scheduled for noon. You’ll both be there, and we’ll introduce Felicity Smoak to the public.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers!!! 
> 
> In celebration of 400 followers on Tumblr, I decided to post Chapter 6 a week ahead of schedule! I hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> (That also means it's unedited so please forgive any mistakes. They will be corrected.)

**Chapter 6**

_This is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening_.

There’s probably a groove in Oliver’s carpet from Felicity’s pacing since they got the news an hour ago. Her phone pings almost incessantly from where she tossed in on the bed, but she can’t be bothered to look at it. She set up alerts for her name and Oliver’s, and with that picture circulating, she already knows what she’ll find if she looks.

 She glances at the magazine again, tossed on the bed beside her discarded phone. She steps closer and picks it up to examine the picture yet again. They look happy, in love. Sure, it’s unfortunate that this has to happen now, yet she can’t resist the smile taking over her face as she traces Oliver’s face in the picture.

Adoration.                                                   

It shocks her because she didn’t think she would see that depth of emotion in his eyes.  In the pictures he stares at her like she’s his whole universe, like nothing else in the entire world matters.

Her phone blares “She’s a Lady” and Felicity groans. In all of this, she completely forgot about telling her mother.  In light of the photos, the nondisclosure agreement is a moot point. She drops the magazine to pick up the phone.

“Hi, Mom.”

“AHHHHH! HI BABY!”

Felicity yanks the phone away from her ear. She hears her mother scream from arm’s length away. She can make out the words “soulmate,” “didn’t tell me,” and “Oliver Queen.” She puts the phone on speaker and drops it back on the bed. It bounces as she flops back to land on the bed. Her mom is still talking a mile a minute and Felicity knows it’s better to let her talk herself out.

She twists to the door as she hears it open, left staring sideways at her soulmate. He grins and nods to the phone that still spouts her mother’s excited voice. He raises an eyebrow and looks at the phone.

 _Mom_ , she mouths, cautious about his reaction to the whirlwind that is her mom.

He chuckles and leans down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “I see where you get it from,” he whispers a hair’s breadth away. Louder, he says, “It’s nice to hear from you, Mrs. Smoak. Felicity’s told me so much about you.”

Her mother’s voice comes to a shrill halt, leaving them in stunning silence. Felicity stares at Oliver, mouth open in awe. She wouldn’t have thought it possible: her mother, silent. That settles it, Oliver is a miracle worker.

Donna Smoak, ever the effervescent, can’t-bring-her-down type, starts talking a millisecond later. “Oliver Queen, I presume?”

“The one and only.” Oliver winks at Felicity. His devil-may-care grin does delicious things to her insides as he’s still only inches away from her face. He hovers over her, arms braces as if he’s about to do a push-up. It puts her in mind of other things she wouldn’t mind doing right at this moment.

“Felicity! Why didn’t you tell me he was there?” If her mother was here, she would have smacked Felicity in the arm and turned a glamorous smile on Oliver. At least that’s something to be thankful for.

“He just walked in, Mom,” She responds with her own smile, the words more breathy than she wanted them to be.

“Well, it is fantastic to finally meet my Lissy’s other half. Of course, if you had told me before hand, I could have been there to meet you in person instead of being stuck in airport security right.” Then, to someone next to her: “Sorry, I’m just talking to my daughter. She found her soulmate!”

Felicity groans. Of course, her mom would tell everyone who would listen that her baby found her soulmate.

“Oh, honey, Bob says congratulations! Isn’t he just the sweetest? You know, they have some of the nicest people in airport security. I don’t know what everyone’s always complaining about.”

“Airport? Mom, why are you at the airport?” Felicity demands as she rolls for the phone. Oliver quickly moves out of the way to fall down next to her on the bed. She lifts the phone up so she can be closer.

“I’m coming to visit you, of course, baby! We’re going to celebrate you getting your happily ever after!” She squeals into the phone as Felicity lowers her head to the comforter with another groan.

She cannot deal with her mother on top of everything else. The last thing she needs is her mother posing for the press in a tight dress. And she can’t even begin to image putting Moira and her mother in the same room together:  Moira, the Queen of all things serious (pun intended), and Donna, the Queen of frivolity and emotions. Oh, will that be a conversation to see, or not. She’s not sure she wanted to be anywhere near that meeting when it actually did happen.

“What? You’re coming to Starling? Now? When do you land?” She demands, her mind whirls as she tries to figure out how picking her mother up from the airport fits between getting dressed and the press conference and avoiding the paparazzi. “Where are you staying? Did you plan this out at all?”

“Calm down, sweetie! You always worry too much! I was thinking I could stay with you. You’ve got that guest bedroom, and I brought my earplugs so you don’t have to worry about me hearing anything unsavory.”

“Mooooom,” she moans into the blanket.

“Please, honey! With a soulmate who looks like that it would be a crime not to be having sex. I mean, have you seen the man?”

Oliver laughs softly next to her and she glares him into silence. Or rather, she tries to, but Oliver just smiles wider. “Thank you, Mrs. Smoak.”

“Please, honey, call me Donna. We’re practically family!”

“Mom-“

“Oh! Sorry, Felicity, honey! I have to hang up. I’ll call you when I get in! Kisses!” She makes a kissy noise into the phone and then the line clicks dead.

Felicity wishes she had a wall to bang her head against, or maybe a desk, anything that could make this whole situation just a little less crazy. First the reporters, then a press conference, and now this. “Could this day get any worse?”

Oliver laughs and she feels the bed shift as he moves. He presses a kiss to the exposed skin where her neck meets her shoulder. “It’s not going to be that bad.”

“You only say that because your closet is right there. My apartment with all my clothes and make-up, and basically everything it takes to make me look,” she gestures feebly, “beautiful is protected by a horde of reporters out to sell my picture for a quick buck.”

“You always look beautiful,” he whispers into her skin.

“You have to say that.”

“It’s true. You. Are. Breathtaking.”

She squeals as he flips her over so she’s facing him again, and he cuts her off with kiss to her lips. It starts off teasing, chaste and turns into more. She doesn’t realize how compromising their position is until his body starts pressing into hers in a decidedly more than friendly way. She gasps at the contact, opening her eyes to stare up into his blue ones as he watches her.

“I’m never going to get tired of doing that,” he tells her, leaning down for another quick kiss. “But right now my mom and Thea are downstairs with a stylist and probably a publicist to prep you.”

Felicity’s face scrunches in distaste. “A publicist?”

“Knowing my mom, she probably wants to coach you on what to say.”

“You mean so I don’t babble in front of the press. Oh god,” horror fills her as she imagines making some embarrassing innuendo in front of a dozen cameras, “what if I accidentally make an innuendo? Or say something equally embarrassing? Oh, no. I can’t do this. I can’t do this, Oliver. I’ll just go hide in a corner or something. Really. It’s okay.”

He chuckles into her ear and kisses the edge of her jaw. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll do all the talking. You can just stand there and try to ignore the invasive questions and flashing camera lights.”

“Oh no! No! Let’s get one thing straight, Oliver Queen: I am _not,_ nor will I ever be, someone’s arm candy! I can talk for myself, and I refuse to let everyone think I am just a blonde bimbo.”

He pulls back, face serious. “No one who met you, Felicity, would ever think you’re anything less than a genius. And if anyone says differently, I’ll set them straight.”

She smiles. It was the perfect thing to say. “Is that so?”

“Yes. They have to know who’s the smart one in this relationship.” He leans down for another kiss.

“Enough dawdling, you two! Felicity needs to get ready for the press conference! Oh! Ew! Next time put a sock on the door or something!” Thea shouts after bursting through the door.

Felicity pulls away from Oliver to see Thea shielding her eyes with her hands.

“Maybe you should start knocking, Speedy,” Oliver responds dryly, but he stands and offers her a helping hand.

Thea doesn’t deign to respond. “Come on, Felicity! I’ve got the perfect dress for you!”

Oliver yanks Felicity to her feet, using the same momentum to pull her in close for a kiss. “Go. Have fun. I’ll get Digg to pick up your mom from the airport.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back. She has to rise on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. With a sigh, she drops back onto her heels. “I guess I have to go get ready for a press conference.”

Why does it feel like she’s walking into a trap?

...

“Mom, is it really necessary for us to be at the press conference?” Oliver asks as he follows her into his father’s old office.  “The PR department can take care of the explanation and Felicity and I could go to a gala or something for our first public appearance.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes closed in exasperation. “Our head of PR, Rachel, thinks it would be fine without you. She said the manner of the exposé, the candid pictures where you’re obviously in love, were perfect for just a statement. _I_ want the two of you there to present a united front. We are a family and we need to look like one.”

“And you honestly think putting Felicity and me on a stage is going to...what? help? Put on a show? Why do you need us there, Mom?”

“Why are you trying to get out of it?”  

He frowns at his mother. “Neither Felicity nor I are dolls you can bring out when you need us to make a pretty picture.”

 “And I’m not asking you to, Oliver. I’m asking you to be there to present a united front for our investors. This is good for the company’s image.”

Oliver steps closer and taps a finger against the wood of the desktop. He’d come up with the idea shortly after he came downstairs to find Felicity looking like a lost puppy as Thea and another woman – the publicist probably – spoke at her a mile a minute.

“How about Rachel makes her statement, and you say how happy you are for us.  Felicity and I can go pick her mom up from the airport instead.”

“Oliver...” The warning tone in her voice is reminiscent of his early childhood when he would constantly be in trouble for one thing or another.

“Mom...Felicity doesn’t want to do this. _I_ don’t want to do this.” He pushed his luck. There’s something about this press conference she’s not telling him.  He wants her to break, to confess her plan, to tell him what’s going on. “What is so important about _this_ press conference?”

 Moira actually looks nervous as she stares down at her hands. She avoids eye contact for a minute, that’s all the time she allows herself before reaching into one of the desk drawers and pulling out a small box. She places the blue box between them like a hat thrown in the ring.

He doesn’t have to open it to guess what’s inside. “Walter asked you to marry him.”

“And I said yes.” She waits for a verdict from Oliver, uncharacteristically searches for approval from her son.

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “Then why aren’t you wearing the ring, Mom?”

Her hand falls on top of the box. “I wasn’t sure how you would take it.”

He walks around the desk and pulls her into his arms. “I’m happy for you, Mom. For both of you. I...”

Oliver doesn’t know how to say what he wants to. It’s long overdue, this conversation. “I was confused at first, not because you were in a relationship with someone new, but because you  were in a relationship with your soulmate and I thought Dad was your soulmate. I’m happy for you, that you found this happiness now. But why did you marry Dad back then if he wasn’t your soulmate?”

“It was a political marriage, Oliver. It’s the reason we didn’t make your mark public record. Raisa filled your head with stories of romance growing up, and I never wanted to burst that bubble.” She moves over to the couch. Oliver follows, sitting beside her.

“So that’s why Dad kept encouraging me to stay with Laurel.” Pieces of his life are starting to fall into place and he recalls a conversation he had with Slade back on that Island. He wonders how much Laurel knew about the plan, if she was okay with the scheme.

Moira nods. “Your father...he thought she was the best option for you: smart, classy, well-educated. I wanted to at least try to find your soulmate. I did love your father, in my own way. But when I met Walter...it was something completely different.”

Oliver smiles. He knows what she’s talking about. He felt the difference as soon as he met Felicity, that special something that drew him to her. If his mom felt even a fraction of that with Walter, he can’t fault her for moving on. He’s amazed it took her this long. With Felicity, he only lasted a couple months before he had to admit he wanted more.

“I’m happy you found your soulmate, Oliver. I really am.” She squeezes his hand.

Oliver sighs, a chuckle escapes. “Well, technically, Thea found her.”

“Regardless, I’ve never seen you so happy. Even when you were just pretending to date.”

His head jerks up. She shouldn’t know that. Then again, he can’t say he’s at all surprised that she does know. She was always knows. Oliver looks at the ceiling. His masterplan to get out of the press conference, it won’t work. His mother is going to stand in front of a crowd and essentially air the family secret that Robert Queen wasn’t her soulmate. She needs his support.

“Alright, Mom.” He lets out a breath of air. “We’ll be there. Just to be clear, neither of us is speaking. But both Felicity and I...we’ll be there to show our support.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” It’s not often he sees true gratitude in his mother’s eyes.

He nods to the ring. “You should put the ring on, Mom.”

A smile lights up her face at the idea. Slowly, reverently, she slips the ring from the case and onto her finger. It’s not the intricate, elaborate ring she wore when she was married to his father. It’s simple, elegant, and completely her style. Satisfied with how it sits on her finger, she lowers her hand and grabs Oliver’s again.

“I know it’s early, Oliver, but Walter and I are sick of waiting. And I was wondering if, when the time came, you would be the one to walk me down the aisle.”

He laughs, tugging her into a warm hug. “I would be honored.”

“What’s going on here?” Thea demands.

Oliver pulls away from his mother. Felicity and Thea are both framed in the door watching them curiously. He glances back at her.

Thea screams when she sees the ring. She throws her arms around both Moira and Oliver. Over Thea, Oliver sees Felicity smiling at them. He extricates himself from the hug and walks over to her. Unable to resist, he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“So we’re really doing this?” Felicity asks.

Oliver nods. “To support my mom and Walter.”

“Good, because I don’t think I could talk to the press. I could barely talk to the publicist and fRachel was actually really sweet. I’m not someone you want to put in front of a ton of cameras.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her to tuck her into his side. “Don’t worry. We’ll both just be there to paint a pretty picture.”

She turns into his shoulder to conceal the fact that she’s shaking with laughter. He feels all warm and fuzzy inside. And he doesn’t want this to change.

...

“Oh! Honey, you look _gorgeous_! I told you red was a beautiful color on you!”

Felicity resists the impulse to roll her eyes as her mother fixes her hair. She hasn’t been here five minutes and already her mother’s found something to critique. She catches Diggle’s eye and the man has the nerve to smirk at her. Well, she guesses she can’t blame him: he did spend the last hour with her mother. This is probably great payback from his point of view.

 “I’m glad you came, Mom.” She squeezes her hand. If her smile looks a little forced, that’s because it is.

Her mom tends to get a little...overzealous about most things. And here she is about to introduce her mother to the classy, almighty Queens. She prays to God her mother doesn’t go on one of her “bag a billionaire” rants. Her mom lacked her verbal with the added benefit of no shame.

She was lucky enough to shake Oliver long enough to meet her mother in person. The squealing alone when her mom first saw her was enough to make a person go deaf. She couldn’t hear through her right ear. Honest to goodness.

The last thing Felicity wants to do is walk her mother through the door and into the large family dinner Raisa threw together to celebrate Moira and Walter’s engagement. Plus, Moira insisted Donna stay in the mansion. She obviously had no idea what she was getting into. Felicity half expects the entire night to go up in flames.

Maybe even literally.

“So...when do I get to meet your hunk of a soulmate?” She smiles hopefully as her hands clap together in barely contained excitement.

Felicity winces at Digg’s amused chuckle. “His name is Oliver, Mom. And we’re actually going to have dinner with him and his family.”

Her mother stares expectantly, eyes dart every so often to the looming mansion.

Felicity grimaces as she realizes she can’t stall forever, especially not standing in front of the formidable house. Besides, Oliver will burst out the doors any minute to find her. This meeting is going to happen. There’s no avoiding it, regardless of what she wishes.

She takes a deep breath and turns to face the main door. She wrings her hands, her teeth dig nervously into her bottom lip. She reaches for the doorknob only to have it yanked open by an overeager Thea.

“Hi! You must be Felicity’s mom! It’s so great to meet you!” Thea wraps her mom in a hug, and Felicity can’t help but think that they’re too similar.

“Call me Donna.”

“Oh, I’m Thea! And this is Roy,” Thea yanks the boy in the red hoodie forward, “my soulmate.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Roy! Aren’t you just precious?”

Felicity closes her eyes against the image, but even that can’t erase her mother pinching Roy’s cheeks. She feels a large, familiar hand on her back and she leans into it. At least her mother hit it off with someone. Roy will probably avoid her for the next couple months.

“And this must be Oliver.”

Her eyes fly open to the flirtatious look her mother gives the man behind her. She groans at her mother’s lack of propriety. Her head falls back and comes into contact a well-muscled chest.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Donna.” The charming bastard then kisses her knuckles.

She can practically see her mother swoon.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest!”

Felicity sighs. It’s going to be a long night. She thought he managed to keep her emotions under wraps, but Oliver’s questioning look as they follow her mother and Thea inside make her think she isn’t that successful. She rolls her eyes as her mom starts gushing about how beautiful the mansion looks.

“Calm down, Felicity. She’s doing fine,” Oliver whispers in her ear.

That’s easy for him to say. It’s not his mother about to make a fool of herself. She doesn’t think it’s possible for Moira to embarrass herself. Her mother on the other hand...

Is it too early to start the wine?

Oliver’s warm chuckle echoes in her ear. “Let’s save the wine for dinner.”

...

“So you’re a cocktail waitress?”

Oliver sends his mother a sharp look.

“Yup,” Donna responds brightly. “Worked there to make sure my baby girl got everything she needed.” The smile she directs at Felicity is full of an unbelievable amount of love. “Even helped pay for college a bit.”

Moira purses her lips in a strained smile. “Oh?”

“Of course, my baby wouldn’t settle for anything less than the best school.” She laughs brightly and Felicity smiles nervously back. “And she’s really the amazing one. She worked her butt off to get her Masters in four years all while working part time. She truly is amazing.”

“I don’t understand much of the tech talk myself, but our Director of Applied Science has nothing but praise for her.”

“Well, I’ve seen her work and it’s nothing short of awe-inspiring.” Oliver grabs her hand on top of the table. Because it’s true. In the past few months, he’s seen her dig up dirt on each of the hundreds of names on his father’s list. She’d made connections he hadn’t thought to look for. 

She shakes her head at him, but she’s pleased. He can tell by her smile, the way she squeezes his hand, the crinkle in the corners of her eyes. His thumb draws circles into the back of her hand, his fingers dancing along the inside of her wrist, over her pulse point.  He can’t seem to stop touching her.

He must drift off into his own little world because when Felicity squeezes his hand he realizes he’s been staring at her face. Oliver coughs and returns his attention to the rest of the table to find smirks on every face, all eyes purposefully averted.

The topic changes abruptly and Oliver’s forced to drop Felicity’s hand so they can eat. The rest of the meal proceeds smoothly, more or less, with Moira and Donna finding a tentative middle ground although it’s clear the two will never be best friends.

Halfway through dessert, the topic of conversation switches to the poverty and destitution of the Glades.

“The whole area is just gangs and violence. Anyone with any money and good sense would get out while they could,” Moira asserts.

Oliver pauses with a spoon halfway to his lips, and sends a glance to Roy. Felicity’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. He waits for the angry, indignant report he’s sure will come from one of them. Instead, it comes from a rather surprising source: Donna.

“Sometimes money and good sense aren’t enough. After my husband left, I worked two jobs just to cover rent, school, and my deadbeat husband’s debts. We couldn’t afford a place in a nice neighborhood, but I made sure my daughter knew how to take care of herself. Most of those people are just doing what they can to survive in a world that likes to kick them down. For some people, just living until tomorrow is all they care about. I’m sure there are a couple people at this table who could tell you about that.” Her astute blue eyes meet Oliver’s.

Yeah, Felicity gets a lot from her mom, which includes a strong backbone and a fierce defense of people in need. 

“Surviving on a deserted island is hardly comparable to living in the slums.”

“You’re right, Mom. At least on the island, there were only a handful of people who could kill me,” Oliver inputs. He takes another bite of steak, willfully ignorant of the response his statement elicits.

Felicity squeezes his forearm in sympathy, but continues to sip her wine. Everyone else – Moira, Walter, Thea, Roy – is frozen in shock.

“Exactly!” Donna crows. She points triumphantly at Oliver with her fork, the chocolate cake still rests on top. “Although I bet there were worse dangers there too.”

Oliver’s lips twitch in the resemblance of a smile. “Yeah, but I’ve found the most dangerous thing is human nature.”

Donna nods sagely at his words. “I’ve always thought so. But back to happier topics: Did you know Felicity’s first word was ‘hit’? In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have left her at the blackjack table for quite so long.”

Thea laughs. “Really?”

Next to him, Felicity groans something that sounds like “Mom.”

Oliver grins and leans forward, eager to hear more stories about her childhood. This dinner has just made a turn from awkward to fantastic.

                                                                             ...

“I don’t know why you felt the need to drag me to the store with you. You know I don’t like your techie do-dads. Oooh! What does this one do?” Donna picks up a webcam and turns it around like it’s a fascinating contraption. It would be far more impressive if she wasn’t waving it around in circles like a magic wand.

“Would you have preferred to stay at the mansion with Moira?” Oliver’s walking Digg and Lyla through their underground operation, which leaves her the babysitting capacity. It’s a nice change, not to have a bodyguard trailing her every move.

She watches her mother’s face scrunch, and Donna returns the webcam to the shelf. “Moira is a perfectly nice woman who loves her family very much. And she now considers you to be part of her family.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mom.”

“Do what?” Donna glances back at her daughter from the display of phone cases, her hand lingers over a completely bedazzled one.

“Be so nice all the time,” Felicity explains. She contemplates a baby monitor, wondering if she can repurpose the parts.

“Life’s too short to spend it as a mean old sourpuss,” her mother answers crisply with her iconic bright smile. 

Felicity sighs, adding a pair of walkie-talkies to her basket with the wireless router she first grabbed. She wants to tell her mother she doesn’t always have to be a ball of sunshine either, but she got her temperament from her mother. She knows she’s predisposed to happiness, flexible in most situations. In high school and college, she went goth in a vain attempt to subdue that urge. Yet when it came down to it, she was just like her mother in this.

It reminded her something her mother told her after her father left: “Having a big heart in a cold world, isn’t weakness, sweetheart. It requires great courage, and you are nothing if not courageous.”

Her mom was probably the strongest person she knew. Sure, Donna looked like a Barbie doll most of the time, and more than a few men made the mistake of treating her like one, but Donna Smoak was a force to be reckoned with. Heaven forbid you get on her bad side. Although she might not be physically strong, she could bring the highest horse down with a few well-placed words.

In that, she was very similar to Moira Queen.

Felicity gets on line for the cash register. She purposefully avoids eye contact with the group of college students who watch her from a nearby aisle. Oliver and Digg both pulled her aside this morning and explained what to do if someone asked her about Oliver, an explanation that boiled down to: don’t answer questions and call Oliver.

She knows both men had been reluctant to leave her without protection, but it’s been months without a single Bratva appearance. Lyla was the one who vouched for her. It felt nice to be somewhere without an armed bodyguard.

The line moves forward and Felicity follows it. Her mother’s on another one of her diatribes about technology, so she’s not really paying attention when a man cuts in front of them. She frowns, awareness spiking because he’s facing her and not the line.

“ _Привет дорогой_.”

Felicity jumps in surprise. She spins to face the deep voice behind her, more aware than ever of her vulnerability. The man isn’t what she would call physically imposing, not like his colleague who blocked the line. He’s shorter than her in her heels and his belly protrudes. No, it’s the eyes, cold and dead, that unsettle Felicity.

“Sorry,” she smiles weakly at him, hand already on her phone, “I don’t speak Russian.”

He leers at her. “A pity. You’re a hard woman to find, Felicity Smoak.”

A shiver runs up her spine as he says her name, and not the good kind of shiver she gets around Oliver. Even her mother has the sense to shut her mouth and look around for any possible assistance. But the mountain of a man who blocked their path is scary enough to ward off well-intentioned bystanders.

She shrugs, and tries not to look at her phone as she dials Oliver.

“Where is your _родственная душа_?” He asks gruffly. “We’d like to talk to him.”

Donna frowns, but Felicity just pulls out her phone and lifts it to her ear, like they don’t bother her at all.

“Oliver?”

“I’m on my way,” he growls from the other end.

She smiles lightly at the man as he holds out his hand for the phone. She knows what this is. He’s made his point. He waited until she was unprotected, when she thought she was safe, and he struck. It's a lesson to her and to Oliver. She’s completely at his mercy right now.  

Donna’s hand reaches out and latches onto Felicity’s arm, nails biting slightly into the pale flesh as the man starts talking in brusque Russian. Neither of them need to speak Russian to get the gist of his malevolent tone. 

The man ends the call and holds it out to Felicity with a smile that she’s sure is meant to be just as unsettling as the Russian threats.

“Dimitri,” the man says, “why don’t you escort Miss Smoak and her lovely companion to the cashier. We wouldn’t want them to be accosted by the wrong people.”

Felicity straightens, a beatific smile despite her fear of the hulking figures. She didn’t think she had it in her, but the words slip out almost naturally. “That’s very kind of you...Sorry, I didn’t catch your name...”

His eyes bore into her, cold and calculating. “You may call me Peter.”

“Thank you, Peter, for looking out for my safety.” She can feel the pull of her soulmate bond as Oliver approaches the building without looking through the store doors. “But that won’t be necessary.”

Oliver’s hand comes to rest on her back, but Peter doesn’t break eye contact. Felicity holds his gaze until he gives her a gruff nod of approval.

He chuckles as his glance shifts momentarily to Oliver. “She has fire in her, your _родственная душа_.”

Oliver’s hands drift to her mark, fingers dig into the skin as he faces the man. “ _держаться подальше от нее_ ,” he growls and Felicity can feel it vibrate through her chest. 

Peter smirks and walks away without another word, suitably intimidating and scary for a Russian mob boss, if you asked Felicity. Once the men walk out the door, she collapses into Oliver, going limp after the front she had put on.

Oliver turns her in his arms to wrap her completely in his embrace as he presses a warm kiss to her forehead. “Are you okay?”

A shaky breath escapes her in almost a sob. She nods into his chest, curling into him.

He pulls back just far enough that he can look her up and down, checking for any physical damage. A hand comes up to cup her cheek. Worry radiates off him, centered in his story blue eyes.

Felicity leans into his touch as it relaxes her, draws her into the comfort of his presence. She’s safe and secure now in his arms. “I’m okay, Oliver. Really.”

Oliver nods in understanding at the words but pulls her in closer as if only more contact will convince him of the veracity of her statement.

“Felicity, what is going on?”

Her mom’s voice draws her back to the physical realm of existence that expands beyond the comforting scent of everything that’s Oliver. She pulls back from Oliver’s chest to look at her mother. Her head comes to rest on his chest as she stares at her, unable to resist the comfort of Oliver’s embrace.

“It’s a long story,” Oliver fills in, squeezing her as his hand continues to caress her mark through her clothes.

Donna purses her lips, eyes scanning them. She debates for a moment before her eyes dart to the entrance. “So, is this why you need a bodyguard?”

Felicity pulls away from Oliver to glance at the new arrival – John Diggle – as Oliver responds evenly: “The Queen family has many enemies.”

“That puts my daughter in danger?” Donna doesn’t sound incredibly impressed or even happy with that fact.

Felicity steps away from him to face her mother. “Mom...”

“No! Baby girl, if you’re in danger, I think I need to know.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Smo- Donna,” Oliver corrects at her strict look. “Felicity’s safety is my top priority. Mr. Diggle’s wife, Lyla would have been here, but she had an appointment.”

“Mr. Diggle’s wife?”

“Lyla,” Felicity fills in. She faces her mother. “She’s been acting as my bodyguard. She’s also pregnant,” she adds as an afterthought.

“His pregnant wife is your bodyguard?”

“She’s ten times scarier than I am,” Diggle inputs, a smug smile on his face.

Donna looks skeptical as she eyes his huge arms.

“Felicity, Digg’s going to take you back to the mansion and he’s going to stay there with you. Both of you.”

She wants to argue, purely on principle: Oliver can’t order her around all the time. Yet after meeting Peter, after feeling that scared, that vulnerable, she’s willing to make this concession.

“Oliver, you can’t just keep me locked in a tower.”

He grimaces at the idea, which makes her think he would actually try to do it. Then he nods. “I know, but I want to check your apartment first, make sure it’s secure,” he whispers, focused on her and not what people could overhear, not worried her mother might as why a former playboy would need to clear her apartment.

Felicity nods. “Okay. I just need to buy those.” She points at the basket that she doesn’t remember handing to her mother, but the crate hanging off her arm suggests otherwise.

“Felicity,” his voice is pained, a plea for her to listen to him, to accept his help now, without question.   

She sighs and squeezes his arm in acknowledgement. “Fine, but you have to take them to the-“

“Thank you,” he whispers to cut her off before she can finish the sentence when he already knows how it’s going to end.

“And come home soon?” she pleads. As much as he doesn’t want her out of his sight, she doesn’t want him away from her for too long either.

“As soon as I clear your apartment and check in on the next two names.”

She frowns in disapproval at the last part. Regardless of what they’ve been doing to prep for a take-down of the men on his father’s list, now is not the time. With the Russian mob back in play, he doesn’t need to take the time to visit the next two men from the list. She already had the relevant information from her computer search. Live observation really wasn’t necessary, but Oliver insisted on it for every name, just as a precaution, to make sure their connections were accurate and based in face instead of a mislaid electronic trail.

For policy, it was great; for her sanity, not so much.

“Be careful,” she whispers before she rises on tiptoes and presses her lips to his.

“Always,” he responds as he pulls her closer and kisses her soundly.

When they break apart, Oliver relinquishes her into John’s custody rather reluctantly. Felicity steals one last glance over her shoulder through the automatic doors sliding shut and she catches Oliver standing there with that small smile that does something to her insides.

She loves that man.

...

Felicity’s apartment is a little bit of a mess, Oliver reflects as he searches for the evasive little bugs that clandestine agents like to place in their prey’s habitudes. Of course, he couldn’t tell between her little bits of tech and any planted bugs. The bug sweeper didn’t pick up anything definitive by her desk though, so he thinks she’s safe.

There are no Bratva-style messages in her apartment either, which is a comfort to him. Even though Oliver’s well aware that cornering Felicity while she was out shopping was just as effective as any message they could have left, in not more. He still can’t suppress a shudder at what could have happened today should the men have mean her actual harm.

Oliver sends a quick update to John as he leaves Felicity’s humble abode. He gets a response from Felicity as he swings a leg over his bike, another plea to be safe tonight since he’s without back-up.

Oliver’s heart swells with love as he promises to do the best he can before speeding off to the Foundry to collect his suit. He’d contemplated not bothering to change, but in deference to his soulmate, he decided to maintain as many safety measures as possible.

The Foundry feels empty without Felicity’s comfortable presence by her computer station. As much as her participating in this endeavor worries him, he’s surprised how her absence is even more disconcerting. He feels it like a shadow over the whole operation, one he would do anything never to see again.

He pulls the green leather on and boards his secondary bike with ease, double-checking all his equipment in Felicity’s absence. It feels good – soothing – to participate in this bit of routine. It alleviates some of his unease in leaving Felicity without his protection. Sure, he trusts Digg to watch her, but the only time he’s assured of her safety is when she’s wrapped in his arms.

Oliver sighs, yanking the helmet onto his head. He’s in love with his soulmate already.  

For once, all he wants to do is get home to Felicity, not worry about this extensive list. 

But he has a quota to meet: visiting two names on the list just for some personal recon.

The first is the Queen Consolidated Head of Security, a truly disconcerting notion, but the man seems pretty comfortable in his home, a home he can’t afford on just a Queen Consolidated salary judging from the looks of it. He wonders what a family man was thinking to get involved in shady business with two kids under 13 and a beautiful wife.

It complicates things for him. Felicity found the proof of his misdeeds, but the man he’s spying on gives the appearance of happiness and smiles. He doesn’t seem to be involved in anything nefarious.

But looks can be deceiving.

Verifying in person the regularity of the man’s routine, Oliver turns back to his bike. One more person to check out before he can head home.

He’s turning the keys in the ignition when he feels a prick to the back of his neck. His hand pulls a dart from the spot. He has just enough time to recognize it as a tranquilizer before he falls to the side, unconscious.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovely Readers! 
> 
> I know it's been a long wait, but I'm finally back with the next chapter! This is mostly edited but there still might be a couple of errors. I hope you enjoy were this goes! 
> 
> Warning for graphic violence!

**Chapter 7**

_Bang bang bang_.

Felicity starts. Blearily, she blinks the sleep from her eyes and struggles to remember where she is and how she got there. She knows she’s in bed because there are blankets piled up on top of her warm cocoon. But the bed is too soft to be hers and it doesn’t have the fresh-laundry scent of one of the guest rooms in the mansion.

No, these sheets smell like Oliver, a musky combination of scents she can’t name.

Her mind travels back to last night, back to arriving at the Queen Mansion with her mom and John Diggle. Thea and Roy had joined them for a movie night. Well...they had joined her and her mother. John had left to update the security and then to go home to Lyla.

She doesn’t remember walking back upstairs, to a guest room or otherwise.

Without opening her eyes, Felicity reaches out to find the body of her soulmate. When she feels the cold sheets, she frowns, lifting herself up by her elbows and finally opening her eyes. She casts a look around the room for any sign that Oliver was ever there.

She comes up empty.

_BANG BANG BANG._

“Oliver! You in there?”

Felicity frowns at John Diggle’s voice, at the urgency in it, urgency that doesn’t fit into her slowly awakening world. She stumbles out of bed to the large mahogany doors. She pulls her slightly mussed braid over her shoulder before pulling the door open.

“What’s going on, John?” She asks through a yawn, blinking at him.

“Is Oliver here?”

Felicity glances behind her as she shakes her head. “No.” She twists back to John. “I haven’t seen him.” She stretches sleep-filled muscles. “I must have fallen asleep waiting for him to get back.”

“So you haven’t heard from him,” John persists.

She frowns, the urgency of the situation finally starting to get to her. Felicity walks back into the room to snatch her phone and her glasses from the night table. There are no new messages or calls. 

She glances back at the bodyguard. “You haven’t heard from him?”

John shakes his head. “Not since the tech store.”

“I got a text from him before he went to check on two names on the list. That was at 9.” She drops the phone on the bed and quickly finds her bag on a chair in the corner. She digs her tablet out and returns to the center of the room.

“There’s a tracker in his phone,” she mutters aloud for John’s benefit as she searches for his GPS signal. The signal the phone sent out was protected, untraceable. There was no way...

Felicity’s hand pauses over the tablet and the blinking red icon. “That’s not possible.”

She tosses the tablet on the bed beside the phone and races back to the bag for her laptop. She can do more with the laptop than the tablet.

In her periphery, she barely registers Diggle picking up the tablet and carrying it over to her new perch at Oliver’s desk in the corner. She plugs in the Ethernet cable to increase speed and starts her attempt to track Oliver from the beginning again, desperate with the hope that the last ‘no signal’ was a fluke.

“Felicity,” Diggle says, voice low, a warning.

“I can find him, John,” she responds forcefully as she continues her search for the GPS signal through every method she can think of. “But that’s not possible. The phone is always on him and always charged.”

Her mind races, trying to find a reasonable explanation for why she can’t locate him.

“If he was in the Foundry, would he still show up?” John asks quietly.

Felicity freezes, her mind a blur of information. “It’s possible all that metal and concrete could block the signal...I’ve never tried to look for him when I knew he was there.” She slams the laptop shut and starts collecting her things.

She’s halfway to the door when Digg’s voice brings her up short. “I would recommend getting dressed first.”

When she looks down, her bright pink pajamas greet her. No. Those won’t work in the Foundry. Yet, if Oliver’s down there and hurt...she has to get to him. Absently, she nods and heads for the closet. Staring at her clothes lined up next to Oliver’s, it strikes her how natural, how right it looks.

Also, she wasn’t the one who unpacked the bags.

Felicity slips into more comfortable clothes as quickly as possible. She barely considers one of her favorite dresses before she settles on jeans and a shirt. Unconsciously, a hand runs over her mark as a frown mars her face. It’s only now that she realizes the slight burning she’s felt since she woke up could be an omen of something bad to come.

But at least it hasn’t scarred over.

Oliver’s alive.

She chooses to take comfort in that.

...

“Felicity, he’s not going to answer his phone. It’s going straight to voice mail,” Digg repeats for what might be the thousandth time.

She’s been so distracted she barely managed to convince Moira and Thea she was fine before she rushed out the door with Digg. There was no convincing her mother, of course. Donna had taken one look at her and known something was up. Thankfully, her mother just nodded and started talking about other plans she had for the day.

Basically it’s just taking far too long for them to get to the Foundry from the mansion, and the traffic they’re currently stuck in is not helping.

Now she understands why Oliver takes the motorcycle everywhere.

Once this is over, and she knows that he’s safe, Felicity will have a stern talk with him about keeping his cell phone on for her sanity. Because this? This is not okay. She’s a nervous wreck, which doesn’t help her logical thought process.

That or she’s going to put a tracker somewhere less removable. She even briefly entertains the idea of putting a tracker directly on him, but even she has to admit that’s overkill...maybe just in the sole of his boot.

“Can you go any faster?” She demands, glaring at the red suburban in front of them.

John glances at her with something that might have been amusement if Oliver wasn’t currently missing. “It’s rush hour traffic. I can’t exactly make it disappear.”

“Aghhhhh! I just feel so useless!” Her fingers tap out a staccato on the dashboard and she bites her lower lip, unable to contain her agitation. Her tablet and the computer aren’t networked into the Foundry. It had seemed like an unnecessary risk. That’s another thing she’s going to change as soon as she gets the chance.

“We’ll be there soon enough.”

She smiles rigidly at Digg’s attempt to comfort her, because honestly that’s not much of a comfort. She remembers Russia, and how quickly that man could inflict damage on Oliver. If he’s in trouble – and she has the sinking feeling that he is – then every minute counts.

“Besides, you know he’s alive, right?” John encourages, a careful glance thrown her way.

“Right,” she mutters as her hand lands on the itchy mark. “For now.”

Digg nods solemnly, but he also grips the wheel a little tighter.

Felicity would rather not think about how much more John knows about what could be happening to her soulmate, because what she imagines in her mind is bad enough. So instead she finds herself pulling out her phone to stare at the last text he send and the time stamp in little white numbers.

There has to be something more useful for her to be doing on the car ride, something more productive than staring into space. And she supposes there is, but right now, it’s all she can think about.

Digg finally gets to their turn off and Felicity lets the phone with its now-dark screen fall into her bag so she can stare out the window. They’re only a block away when Digg curses and suddenly changes directions. The turn is too tight. It throws her into the door and her seatbelt digs into her chest.

Her hands clamp down on the armrests as she looks around wildly. “What was that about? We were almost there!”

“We’ve got a tail,” Digg announces gruffly as he makes another quick turn. 

Felicity twists to look behind them, but all she sees is a couple cars, none that look malevolent, which – now that she thinks about it – would totally ruin the purpose of a tail. “Are suuuuu-“

The town car rounds a turn so quickly two of its wheels probably left the ground. She levels Digg with a glare. “Are these quick turns really necessary?”

He huffs. “Well, normally, I would call in back up and have us go to a mall or something while another team checked out the tail, but Oliver’s MIA and Lyla’s meeting up with her parents to share the good news.”

Felicity frowns at the new information. “Shouldn’t you be with her then?”

John rolls his eyes. “Her parents don’t like me. They think I seduced her into a military life, but we have bigger issues right now.”

“Well, why don’t we just do what you said? We’ll go into a boutique. You can sneak around back and catch our tail.” She nods decisively.

“I’m not leaving you unprotected. Or did you forget the burly Russian guys from yesterday?”

“I’ll make sure I’m surrounded by people. We do this and we can get back to finding Oliver. Turn here.” Felicity leans forward. She grabs the idea like it’s her last lifeline.

She sees Digg’s stony face.

“You would do the same if Lyla’s life were on the line. John! Please! Turn here.”

He grimaces before swerving to catch the turn. “For the record, this is a bad idea.”

“Pull up to _Monique’s_. I like those bright colors.”   Felicity decides, ignoring Digg’s trepidation.

He pulls to a stop in front of the store in question. He parks and climbs out of the car. Felicity preempts his attempt to open her door. With single-minded determination, she struts up to the store and yanks the door open.

“You could at least look a little more relaxed,” Digg mumbles.

Felicity glares at him, but rolls her shoulders back and relaxes. A smile blossoms on her face almost naturally. She still feels stiff and she’s sure Diggle can see the difference. The saleswoman just looks doubtfully up at her from the counter.

Felicity takes in the pristine white and single-outfit displays. Yeah, this is the sort of place Felicity Smoak could never afford. This was exactly the sort of place Thea liked to shop though, so it wasn’t that outlandish for Oliver Queen’s soulmate.

“Hi! Can I get some assistance?” Felicity slides up to the counter and the girl who curled her lip at Felicity’s outfit.

“Sorry, Ma’am, but I don’t think these things are in your price bracket.” The girl sneers at her.

Normally Felicity would just be put off by the look and leave, but she’s here on a mission. The sooner she can get rid of the tail, the sooner she can find Oliver. The clerk is the only thing in her way. So she’s not getting nice Felicity, but angry Felicity.

She pastes a fake smile on her face. “That would probably be true, if I was the one footing the bill. However I have to go to this family function with my soulmate, and I’ve got access to his card. He said to get something pretty.”

The girl still looks skeptical as she twirls her pen around her fingers. “These dresses probably cost more than you make in a week.”

“Miranda!”

The clerk starts at the shrill voice and Felicity follows her gaze to another employee who looks shocked and outraged by the girl’s reaction. “I am so sorry, Miss Smoak. Miranda is a new employee and still learning.”

That the woman recognizes her disorients Felicity. She just barely keeps the smile on her face. “That’s okay. As I was telling Miranda, here, I’m looking for a dress for a gala.”

“Of course. The For the Children Benefit?” The woman asks with a pleasant smile.

Felicity nods slowly. “That’s right...”

“Charlotte.”

Felicity smiles brightly. “Thank you, Charlotte. And yes, that’s exactly what this is for.”

“Was there a particular style you were looking for? Or color? We have quite the selection we can bring forward. Or perhaps you would like a private room?”  

Digg rolls his eyes as he turns away to sweep the street for their tail.

“A private room would be lovely. And I was thinking something with bright colors,” Felicity elaborates as she follows the saleswoman towards the back. “Is there somewhere my bodyguard could go for a smoke break?”

Charlotte glances back at John cautiously and then points down a hall. “We use the back alley. It’s right through there.”

Diggle nods, but looks disgusted by the thought of smoking as soon as the woman looks away. However, he nods to Felicity in acknowledgement of her excuse as he abandons her to the mercies of the store clerks.

Felicity’s soon swept up in the experience of personal shopping, where models showcase the designs until you find one you want to try on yourself and her mimosa glass is always full. She shouldn’t be drinking, especially not considering the situation she’s in. Yet, it’s _because_ of her situation that she needs the alcohol to relax.

Admittedly, the dresses are beautiful, although Felicity would hate to find out what they cost. She wasn’t lying when she said she had Oliver’s card. He’d given it to her for tech for the lair. She doubts he would care if she spent some of it on a dress, especially one with so much bare skin.

He probably wouldn’t notice the expense at all.

“That one.” Felicity points at the red cocktail dress. It’s a little provocative for her, yet it calls to her. She glances at Charlotte. “Does it come in any other colors?”

“Miss Smoak,” Digg interrupts. His face, if possible, looks graver than it did before. “It’s time to go.”

She offers Charlotte a strained smile and holds out the black card. “I’ll take it. Have it delivered to Queen Mansion.”

“Of course,” Charlotte agrees, taking the card and disappearing out of the room. 

She turns to Digg. “Please tell me how you got rid of our tail so I can stop thinking about how expensive that dress probably is.” The dress she just charged to the Queen credit card. She really hopes this doesn’t come back to bite her in the ass, as delectable as that feature might be. 

“I couldn’t. There wasn’t just one car,” Digg responds quietly, ushering her back into the main room. “We need to get you back to the mansion.”

“No!” That isn’t an option. Oliver could be missing. And they won’t know for sure until they get to the Foundry. They don’t have time to be waylaid by potential stalkers.

“They were men with weapons, Felicity. I can’t put you in danger.” Digg glances around the store, his stance shifting with movement by the door of the store.

“Here’s your card, Miss Smoak.”

Felicity takes the slim piece of black plastic back with a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Charlotte. Have a nice day.”

Digg stands a little further back, which gives Felicity the perfect opportunity to step out the front door before he can block her path and stop her from confronting the familiar Russian waiting outside for them. 

She walks right up to him and crosses her arms. “Alright. Where is he?”

The man blinks incredulously as a startled “What?” escapes him.

“Oliver,” Felicity repeats slowly, in case there was some sort of miscommunication. “Oliver Queen. The man your boss threatened just yesterday. _Where is he?_ ”

She feels absurdly like she’s sure Annabeth Chase felt brandishing a knife at a shoeless boy and demanding to know where her boyfriend was. The bodyguard looks just as blindsided as Jason must have been. Startlingly, it’s his reaction that convinces her he knows nothing about Oliver’s disappearance. 

Instead, she just crosses her arms over chest and glares up at Dimitri. “Well, if you don’t know anything about Oliver, why are you following me?”

“Felicity,” Diggle growls in warning from behind her.

“Why. Are. You. Following. Me?” Felicity repeats, a poke to his chest with each word for emphasis.

Dimitri’s too shocked to look intimidating. Instead, he bears a striking resemblance to a goldfish.

“Are you mute or something?” She demands.

His eyes dart around to land on something behind them, something that buoys his resolve. He straightens, intimidation returned in full force. “Good day, Miss Smoak.”

Her glare bores into his back as he walks casually back to his car. She imagines it could actually set fire to him, but it fails to take effect before he slides into the car. So it is completely possible her powers could work.

Maybe she did drink I little too much mimosa.

Felicity’s gaze slides to John’s. “No more tail. Let’s go check out the Foundry.”

...

Oliver comes to slowly, like stumbling out of a fog to find himself on the edge of a cliff. Everything that happened flashing back in an instant before his eyes flutter open. Years of instincts honed specifically for waking up in unexpected situations. 

With closed eyes, Oliver takes stock of his surroundings as much as he can. There’s limited air movement, but there’s the slight echo of water droplets: he’s in a room, a relatively large one too to allow some air movement. 

And it’s damp. Although, the water drips made that evident.

It also goes with the cold.

Probably a basement.

Next he tries to move only to become aware of the heavy manacles that encase his wrist. They dangle in the air, not yet supporting his bodyweight, but he’s been in enough situations similar enough to know that’s the next step. Right now, they just keep him upright.

It’s then he realizes the hood no longer conceals his face. He shouldn’t have expected it would provide much concealment once he was knocked out. It was a naïve hope. It doesn’t even feel like his jacket is on based on the cool air against the skin of his chest.

This is bad.

Beyond bad.

He can’t say this is the worst situation he’s ever been in – his first experience with Fryers definitely rates higher if only because he hadn’t been trained at that point – but it definitely ranks. And opening his eyes can only serve to confirm that its worse.

It would also let his captor know he’s awake. That’s not a mistake he intends to make.

Oliver continues to mentally take stock of his condition. He can’t feel any new cuts or bruises, so this interrogation, or whatever’s about to happen, hasn’t started yet. And they didn’t intentionally wake him up. They were waiting for him.

He remembers the prick to the back of his neck. It was a sedative they hit him with. If they know what they’re doing, then they’ll have an idea of when he’s going to wake up. And they have to know what they’re doing; this is far too professional to leave anything to chance.

And there are bigger problems. Whoever did this was able to follow him without his awareness. Oliver was none the wiser and yet someone had followed him – the _hooded_ version of him. It should have been near impossible. Sure, he’d been a little distracted, but he was good at spotting tails. It was what he did.

Oliver pushes the thought aside. He needs to open his eyes now. He needs to know who took him and why they want him, why they want the vigilante. He stalls for a moment, and that moment is all his captor needs.

“Good,” a heavily synthesized voice says, “you’re awake.”

...

“Oliver!” The metal stairs clang under Felicity’s feet as she races down into the Foundry. Against all doubt and common sense, part of Felicity still imagined she’d find Oliver down here in the dark. 

The basement is still illuminated, waiting for Oliver to return. The case she bought for his suit stands empty, as if to mock her.

Felicity stands for a moment in the middle of the room, eyes blankly fixed on the case while Oliver’s name seems to echo in the damningly empty room. Everything is just how he would have left it, which just makes the room seem emptier.

It’s then that she first feels it: there – standing the middle of the room that represents her life with Oliver, their own private space where they conspired to save a city – that the pain erupts in her side and brings her to her knees with a single scream. It’s explosive and white-hot. No vision of accompanies it: it’s just a feeling, a debilitating feeling of pain, inexact and all-consuming.

She’s aware of the Foundry, aware that the concrete is cold beneath her, that Diggle is at her side, that there are soothing words coming from his mouth, but none of it makes any sense to her. He might as well be speaking gibberish for all the sense she gets from the syllables.

No, she’s preoccupied with the pain that emanates from that one spot.

As it dulls – dulls but doesn’t leave – she gets enough function in her limbs to yank at her shirt, pulling it back to reveal her mark.

Only then, once she’s felt it under her palm, once she’s seen the inky black, does she relax slightly into herself. Sobs wrack her body. She doesn’t remember when she started to cry, yet her face is soaked with tears.

“Felicity,” John whispers carefully, a hand rested lightly on her arm as if afraid to startle her.

Her head jerks up to him as if he suddenly appeared out of thin air beside her.

“You’re okay. The mark’s still there.” Diggle gains more confidence as his hand moves to draw circles on her back.

She leans into him, deep breaths slowly calm her racing pulse even as the pain lingers. She’s glad John doesn’t say that Oliver’s okay because the pain makes it fairly evident that he’s not. Something terrible is happening to Oliver and there’s nothing she can do because she has no idea where he is.

But she also can’t work through debilitating pain.

So with a grimace she turns to John.

“I need the strongest painkiller you’ve got that won’t make me all woo-hoo.” She twirls a finger around her head. She needs to think clearly. She can’t be all loopy, and she can’t collapse in pain every five minutes.

“What’s wrong?” John asks, a frown looms on his face. “Felicity?”

She curls over with another wave of pain. She barely contains the scream caught in her throat as she blinks back painful tears to meet John’s eyes. With labored breaths, she speaks through gritted teeth: “Whatever those Russians gave Oliver months ago, it’s still active. Just not as extreme.”

As the pain abates, she stands and hobbles over to the med table. Drawer after drawer, she frantically searches for something to ease the pain before it hits again. She can only block out so much of the pain.

Digg gently eases her back and takes out a couple pills. He passes it them to her and snags a water bottle almost simultaneously. Felicity takes a moment to admire the physical grace with which he manages that particular maneuver, before she feels another wave of pain rising and swallows the pills in one gulp.

“How bad is it?”

Felicity glares at him as she takes another swig from the bottle. “I’ll be fine. We just need to find Oliver. NOW.”

Her eyes take on a faraway quality as she realizes what she has to do, what she’s determined to do. “At whatever cost.”

...

Oliver bites back a scream as the blade is ripped from his abdomen. It causes more damage from the serrated edge and it leaks out in. It causes pain, but the wound isn’t fatal. This man knows what he’s doing.

“So, Mister Queen,” the man in black rasps through the voice modulator, “this is what you got into after four years on a deserted island. Not what I expected.”

His breaths are labored as Oliver tries to meet the eyes under the black mask. He forces a chuckle out in the face of the man before him. “And here I thought you were torturing me for answers, not to make small talk.”

“I have many questions, and yes, most of them stem back to your stay on Lian Yu.”

Oliver stiffens at the name. That wasn’t common knowledge, or at least not the important information that people knew about what had happened to him. This man knows more, which means he was involved somehow.

His eyes slam shut as the blade slices into his skin again. He releases his pain in a grunt through gritted teeth. It’s only sheer determination that allows him to silence the scream that wants to escape. He’s had worse, rationally he’s aware of that, but now he has so much more to lose.

As if conjured, an image of Felicity fills his mind. Her eyes are bright as she laughs, her smile almost splitting her face. It’s her. She’s his happy place.

“Ugh!” The pain of the sword sliding back out of his body drags him back to his painful present.

“So, Mister Queen, what did your father tell you before he died?”

Oliver wraps his hands around the chain holding him up by his hands. It steadies him. At least he knows this is connected to the list. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play games with me, boy,” the man in black threatens. “What. Did. Your. Father. Tell. You. Before. He. Died?” A punch delivered with each word.

Oliver spits blood and saliva on the dusty concrete floor. “He told me I was going to kill you.”

The man laughs. “Sincerely doubt that, Oliver.”

He lashes out, conscious of his injuries but desperate still to break out of his bonds.

A quick, bracing moment, and Oliver dislocates his thumb to slip it out of the cuffs. He uses the chain from the ceiling to pull him up enough so he can swing his feet out at the figure in black. One hand is still chained, but Oliver manages to push the man back towards a wall. It gives him enough time to set his hand back into place before he has to dodge the next hit. 

The man in black knows what he’s doing as he dodges each and every one of Oliver’s hits like he’s s sloppy child. It might just be luck that he finally lands one: a punch to the head that knocks the hood from the man’s head and reveals the man beneath the mask.

Malcolm Merlyn.

He doesn’t recover from the shock before Malcolm’s fist knocks him out.

...

John thinks this is a bad idea. Felicity’s well aware of that. But it doesn’t matter because she tracked the Russian’s cell phone here. They might not have Oliver, but the Russians are the only ones who might be capable of finding Oliver right now.

The nearest she can tell, a mysterious shadowy figure was following Oliver last night. Digg had been the one to spot the shifting shadow in the limited camera footage she had. It had been sufficiently humanoid and practically spelled “bad news.”

It’s how she ended up here.

The garage is sufficiently dark and dingy. It screams scary, especially for a small blonde girl. It’s the kind of place she normally wouldn’t venture into alone.

But she’s desperate, and it’s true that desperate times call for desperate measures.

The truth is, there’s no other option for her. John disagrees, but then, neither of them could guarantee A.R.G.U.S. was a better resource. At least Felicity was sure the brotherhood was in the area, and that they had resources in Starling, _people_ who knew things her machines couldn’t track down.

It might not be the wisest option, but it was the best, which is why she strolls into the garage.

Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness and no less than three grease-covered mechanics stop working to stare at her. She glances over them. She stops her perusal as soon as she sees a familiar face.

“Dimitri,” she announces as her heels click across the garage floor, coming to a stop on the other side of the car he’s working on. “I need to talk to your boss.”

He raises an eyebrow and glances around the garage. “He’s not here.”

“Now why I don’t I believe that, Dimitri?” Felicity asks, faking bravado as another wave of pain assaults her body. Whatever Digg gave her, it’s getting less and less effective. She really wishes she’s opted for sneakers instead of heels today. It’s easier to keep her balance. “I want to talk to Peter, or whoever’s in charge here,” she offers to the rest of the room.

“That’s a bold claim for an American with no one to vouch for her,” a strongly accented voice declares from behind her.

Felicity turns to face the man. He’s shorter than her, a bit unimpressive in stature if she’s being perfectly honest. If she didn’t see the way the rest of the men in the room stepped out of his way, she might have overlooked him, which she guesses he used to his advantage.

“My soulmate vouches for me,” she responds easily. Out of her depth or not, Felicity’s not about to back down. She needs this.

“Ah, yes. Oliver,” the man nods solemnly. “And where is he? He’s not the kind of man who would let his _родственная душа_ walk into this place alone.”

“Sounds like you know him.”

He chuckles, clearly not thrown by her ignoring the question. “I like you. You’re strong, _бесстрашный_. I can see why you’re his soulmate.”

“And you are?” He’s clearly one of the higher ups, and she needs to talk to someone in charge.

He grins. “Anatoli Kynazev.”

Felicity pauses. She recognizes that name. Maybe she is in way over her head. She hasn’t decided how to proceed with the head of the Bratva when Anatoli asks:

“Why don’t we stop playing around? What do you need from me, Miss Smoak?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I hope to update weekly for the last couple chapters. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Russian Translation (all garnered from Google Translate since I have no real knowledge of the Russian language):   
> родственная душа means soul mate (roughly. This is all through Google Translate)   
> бесстрашный means fearless


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late (and possibly some formatting issues) but here it is! Thanks to geniewithwifi for her fantastic beta-ing! Enjoy!

**Chapter 8**

Felicity draws a shaky breath as she realizes the severity of what she’s about to ask for from the head of the Bratva. The anger and determination that fueled her stride into the room has deserted her. Oliver’s pain is almost constant now, and it’s harrowing to realize she’s becoming accustomed to it. 

“You want to talk? Let us talk.”

She consciously straightens and clasps her hands in front of her to stop the evident shaking. The silence drags on, she knows that. She should speak. Felicity’s not dumb to that fact, but the words swirling around in her head aren’t exactly the polite certain words she need to use here.

From what she knows, women don’t have much status among the Bratva. She shouldn’t be here demanding anything of these men. She’s aware of that.

Her resolve is fading fast.

“Oliver is missing.” The announcement is final, the words damning.

“So I gathered from your confrontation with Dimitri.”

His response frustrates Felicity. He knows what she wants to ask, or at least has some idea. But he won’t voice it out loud. This man is Oliver’s friend. He’s got to be willing to help, but here they have an audience. He can’t just give in and agree to help her.

“You aren’t worried about one of your captains?”

Anatoli grins. “My kapitans can protect themselves.”

Sure, Oliver can defend himself, but not when the opponent is a non-existent shadow. Oliver wouldn’t be going through waves of intense pain if he had made it out of there alive. Felicity nods in agreement. “I’m aware.”

A particularly strong jolt of pain rips through her from right above the knee, and Felicity winces, unable to maintain her still façade.

Anatoli frowns. “You are unwell, Miss Smoak.”

“Felicity,” she corrects through gritted teeth. “And I’m fine.”

“Curious. Orlov’s serum is still working.”        

Her eyes narrow in a solemn glare. The severity of her connection to Oliver isn’t exactly something she wants to make common knowledge. “There are limited effects. Nothing like the first dose.”

“So, someone is torturing my kapitan.”

Felicity nods. “We both know he won’t talk.”

Anatoli agrees. “So what do you want from me, Felicity?”

“Do you know where Oliver is?” She asks, no patience for round about polite conversations.

He shrugs. “I might have some ideas.”

“You know who has him.” It’s not a question: Felicity already knows the answer.

“He is a dangerous man. We only know him in rumors and whispers.”

Felicity scowls. That’s nowhere near an answer, at least not one she can work with. “All I need are your leads and we can handle it on our own.”

“But all information comes with a price.” The men around the room shift at the warning in Anatoli’s voice. “One favor for another. This is how Bratva works.”

“A favor?” This can’t be anything good. Every instinct she has screams at Felicity to run. This isn’t something she wants to be involved in, but Oliver’s life is on the line.

“Between friends,” Anatoli assures her, a gesture with two fingers to someone in the shadows.

Felicity glances over her shoulder as a scuffle breaks out in the corner. Two looming figures move out of the darkness. They throw a third, bound man onto the concrete floor.

“Anton, here, did something very bad, something that went against the brotherhood.”

Not good not good not good, Felicity repeats over and over in her head while outwardly she acts politely interested.

Anatoly reaches out to one of the men who places a gun in his outstretched hand. “As a personal favor, to save your beloved, it would help if you could take care of this issue for us.”

He holds the gun out in her direction.

“Kill him and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

...

When Oliver wakes this time, he’s in a chair, wrists and ankles tightly bound to the cool metal. He rests the room the cord that binds him allows him, only to freeze as his feet splash in the bucket of water.

He’s barefoot now, icy water running between his toes. The metal tub is large, almost the size of a kiddie pool, with the whole chair submerged in it. An instant later, he spots the cables clipped to the edge of the tub. They lead, as expected to a car battery connected to a switch.

Oliver shifts, remembering his time on the freighter. The tension in his abdomen indicating he’s been stitched up.

Dread pools in his stomach.

If Malcolm took the time to patch him up, that means some new hell is in store for him. 

A hell that inevitably includes the electric shocks.

Fear invades his system, fear of the searing pain he knows it about to come, fear of how it’s going to affect Felicity. His death...it just might break her.

And he has no doubt this will end with his death. He might break, might spill his guts over the course of this torture, but if he doesn’t Malcolm will kill him. If he talks, Malcolm will still kill him. So he’s not going to say a word.

Malcolm Merlyn.

That’s another revelation he doesn’t have the proper time to appreciate. Malcolm, his father’s best friend, is after information Robert passed on before he died. It reveals a whole aspect to his exile that he never considered before: sabotage.

The Queen’s Gambit was meant to be lost at sea, along with all its occupants. He’d been so preoccupied with the surviving part, that he’d never thought to question what nearly killed them. He always thought it was the storm that did them in. Now he’s forced to reconsider his earlier preconceptions.

Malcolm knows about the book, but Oliver’s been through the book more times than he can count: Malcolm’s name isn’t in it. So either he compiled it or he works for whoever did.

But Merlyn’s not the type to work under someone else.

No. Malcolm’s in charge of his operation.

And he chooses to conduct interrogations personally, which is a whole other level of in-charge. Even Anatoli doesn’t do his own dirty work: he takes no pleasure in it. Malcolm...he revels in it. Oliver can see that clear as day even in this dingy room.

He needs to get out of here.

The cord around his wrists is tight. If he had been awake when they bound him, he might have been able to get out of it. Now, though...the bonds were too tight and there’s nothing up his sleeve to sever the bonds. He’s caught.

Oliver moves his head from side to side to relieve his tension. He’s alone in the room. He knows that even if his back is to the door. If he wasn’t alone, Malcolm would have shocked him by now.

All there’s left to do is wait.

It’s not a tactic he would have used in the situation, but Malcolm’s a busy man with a business to run. It’s not surprising that he got sidetracked.

Morbidly, Oliver contemplates how he would precede with the interrogation. He wouldn’t have started with stabbing. Electrocution would almost seem to be stepping backwards, except he doubts Malcolm sees it that way. He’s not sure if he should be thankful to be done with the stabbing or terrified of what’s to come.

He closes his eyes. Whatever comes he’s just glad Felicity’s safe. John will stay with her. She’s protected. At the very least, his soulmate will never be touched by this darkness. He has to keep it in perspective. That’s what matters.

“Had time to reevaluate your life choices, Oliver?” Malcolm taunts to the sound of a metal door squeaking open.

Oliver straightens. He sits in the chair like it’s a throne and not possibly a death sentence.

Malcolm moves to stand before him, his black uniform from before exchanged for a three piece suit. “Are you going to answer my questions now or are we going to play with electricity?”

He tilts his head at Malcolm. “What did you ask again?”

His face sours, a genial smile one moment that shifts to a scowl in an instant. “I’m not playing game, Oliver. You’re stitched up because I think your mother and your soulmate will appreciate it. Lovely girl. What’s her name again?”

Oliver’s hands curl into fists around the arms of the chair as he struggles not to react. He knows that’s exactly what Malcolm’s looking for. He needs to remain neutral.

“Fiona? Felicia...No. Felicity.”

The metal chair screams as Oliver jerks involuntarily at the sound of Felicity’s  name from the putrid lowlife before him.

“Oh. You don’t like me talking about her.” Malcolm squats down in front of Oliver. A fingernail taps the edge of the metal basin. “You know what’s about to happen here. Tell me what I want to know, and after I kill you, I won’t go after your girl.”

“You won’t get to Felicity.” The Diggles wouldn’t allow it.

“You couldn’t stop me, and your little bodyguard won’t do any better.” At the determination in Oliver’s eyes, Malcolm heaves a sigh, leaning back to crouch on his heels. “What did your father tell you before he died, Oliver?”

“You mean before you had the Gambit destroyed?” Oliver challenges.

“I always knew you were smarter than you looked. Last chance to answer the question.” Malcolm moves. His hand hovers over the controls of the switch.

Oliver’s silent until the crippling electricity rips a scream from his throat.

...

The gun is a heavy weight in her hand, far heavier than it has any right to be. And it’s cold, so cold. Felicity fights the urge to shiver.

She’s held a gun before. And she knows how to shoot one. She’d be a fool if she didn’t, especially in the mayhem her life turned into since Oliver came home. Lyla had been the first to take her to the shooting range. She wasn’t a spectacular shot – she certainly had nothing on Oliver – but in close range like this, she couldn’t miss.

The question was should she shoot?

She doesn’t have much time to decide with at least ten members of the brotherhood and Diggle staring at her. This is a test, a test of her mettle, of how much this information is worth to her. This is what hypothetical question people ask: how far would you go to save someone you love?

Felicity’s never considered it in more than that hypothetical, what-if stance. In a dark warehouse that reeks of gasoline and grease, the question takes on a whole new meaning. There are people at stake.

She could choose not to shoot this man, and she’s fairly certain Anatoli would let her walk away unharmed. The man would die anyway, just not by her hand. She would be in the clear, her soul untarnished by blood on her hands.

But she wouldn’t find Oliver. Any other leads she could find would get her to him too late.

If she shot the man, it would kill a part of her soul. She knows that. All she needs to do is think of Oliver and she sees the kind of toll it takes on a person. Yet in doing so, Felicity would get the information she so badly needed to find Oliver and save him, her soulmate.

Oliver would tell her to leave, to drop the gun and walk away from the garage. He wouldn’t want her to lose a part of her soul to find him. Hell, Diggle never even wanted her to come. Lyla probably would have shot the poor bastard already.

But Felicity wasn’t any of them.

She was her own person.

Felicity adjusts the gun in her grip. The part of her soul that she loses just might be Oliver. She’s heard about it before: one soulmate does something so jarring, so out of character, that it throws two souls out of sync.

Is it worth it?

She could save her soulmate and still lose him.

If she knew the crimes of the man before her, if she knew he was actually a bad person, Felicity wouldn’t be pondering this so much. If he was a bad guy, then wasn’t there some logic in taking him out?

But the Bratva aren’t going to let her look up the man on a computer before she maybe shoots him. No, she has to take them at their word, as true or false as it might be.

And if she raises the gun to him, will she even be able to pull the trigger?

Felicity’s only ever pointed the gun at paper targets. From this distance, she’ll be able to see the life leave his eyes, to watch his soul depart his body. She’ll stand there as his blood pools on the floor. 

God help her, all Felicity can see in front of her eyes is Oliver writhing in pain as another spasm of pain flares inside her. It doesn’t hurt as much now. Maybe it’s a side effect of her even contemplating this harebrained idea.

She should turn on her heel now, march past Diggle right out the door before a member of the Bratva can stop her.

Then she stops and thinks about what Oliver would do, what she would tell Oliver to do in this situation. If she was the one kidnapped and he was the one searching for her.

She would tell him to do whatever it takes to reunite them.

Felicity raises the gun.

...

“Aaaaahhhhh!” The cords around his wrists bite into the skin as Oliver fights against the current of electricity racing through his system.

“I honestly didn’t think you could hold out this long. The electricity usually breaks the strongest subjects.” Malcolm observes quietly over the labored sounds of Oliver’s breathing. “It’s actually quite impressive.”

He doesn’t ask the question again before flipping the switch.

Oliver gave up the guise of keeping silent eons ago. It feels like hours, but Oliver can’t be sure. He doesn’t even know how much time has passed since Malcolm grabbed him. John has to be looking for him by now.

No light leaks into the concrete room, probably a basement: somewhere Oliver’s screams won’t be heard or questioned.

Malcolm releases a dramatic sigh. “Alright, let’s try an easier question: Did. Your. Father. Make it off the boat?”

Oliver’s head lolls from side to side, his muscles twitch erratically. He doubts any answer he could come up with would be coherent at this point. He could nod. It would end the pain for now. In all honestly, Oliver’s not entirely sure why he’s keeping his mouth shut at this point. It’s obvious to everyone involved that Oliver knows something. 

Felicity. Oliver seizes the thought and refuses to let it escape. He’s protecting Felicity by holding out right now. If Malcolm knows how extensive their operation is, he’ll most likely kill everyone involved, including Felicity.

He can’t let that happen.

“Who are you protecting, Oliver?” Malcolm asks, jerking Oliver’s head back by the hair on his head. “You just have to tell me what you know, and I can let you go.”

Oliver huffs. “Am I supposed to believe that?”

Malcolm stares at him for a moment. Anger flashes in the depths of Malcolm’s eyes before he moves back towards the electric switch. “You’re the son of my best friend. I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t,” Oliver advises half-heartedly.

“I need to know how much you know. Tell me and this can all be over. Come now, Oliver. It’s clear you’re not fond of electricity. Just tell me what I want to know and you can go home to your beloved.”

Oliver’s body shakes despite the absence of electrical current. His muscles are still seizing and he has to admit that Malcolm knows his torture techniques better than Slade ever did. But Oliver’s body is getting to the end of what it can take. Malcolm either has to kill him soon or move on to something else.  

There’s no way Malcolm’s setting him loose.

Oliver’s content to pass out, but Malcolm’s hand clamps down on his throat. He applies pressure, lifting Oliver slowly with that grip. Adrenaline surges through Oliver’s body, keeping him awake as his instincts urge him to fight.

The bonds dig into his wrists, blood welling along the already defined lines. Dark red drips down the leg of the chair, slowly turning the water a faint shade of pink. Oliver thrashes in desperation until Malcolm shoves him backward by the throat, knocking over the chair. His shoulder collides with the concrete floor and Oliver blacks out in the blinding pain of his collarbone breaking.

...

BANG BANG BANG.

The recoil isn’t as bad as Felicity thought it would be, a stunningly blaisé thought in light of the dead body now sprawled on the concrete floor. A pool of red blood spreads from the crumpled form on the floor.

She wants to throw up, but Felicity refuses to show weakness in front of the ruthless men filling the room. To her side, Diggle looks appalled with her decision, paler than normal. Felicity can’t express what she feels: it’s too complex.

In a couple hours – once they get Oliver back – everything will hit her and she’ll find herself emptying the contents of her stomach, curled in a ball crying somewhere. Right now, all she can focus on Oliver and bringing him home.

With a steady hand, Felicity holds the gun back out to Anatoli.

It takes him a moment to grab the weapon as he blinks away his surprise. His motion prompts the rest of the mobsters into action. At Anatoli’s signal, the two men who carried Anton into the room carry his body out of it.

The pool of red that remains behind has Felicity’s stomach rebelling, but she swallows it down.

“I wasn’t sure you had it in you,” Anatoli mutters as his eyes dart from the puddle to her and back. “Your bodyguard seemed to think you couldn’t pull the trigger.”

A glance at Diggle confirms that opinion. In fact, Felicity imagines he’s already preparing his apology to Oliver for letting this get this far out of hand. She gets that he feels responsible, but he and Oliver need to stop going over her head.

She made this decision. The consequences are on her, not them. She doesn’t regret what she’s done, even if that makes her a bad person.

“I did as you asked. Now: where is Oliver?”

“Straight to business then.” Anatoli raises an eyebrow.

Felicity crosses her arms over her chest. She fulfilled her end of the bargain.

“Oliver’s in the basement of warehouse on the corner of Hampton and Lake. Security is tight, un-breachable.”

“Is that why you haven’t gotten him out?” A point that’s more than a little irksome to her at the moment. Oliver’s important to their organization, to Anatoli. She should probably be more cautious that the Bratva don’t want to get involved in this situation.

Anatoli shifts uneasily at the question.

“There’s something you’re not saying,” Felicity points out, satisfied that she’s gained some ground in their conversation. “Why haven’t you gone after Oliver?”

Her voice rose with each unanswered question until both Digg and Anatoli are ushering her into the back of the garage and the small office hidden there.

“If Oliver’s so important to your organization-“

“Felicity,” John cuts her off until the door to the office shuts behind them. His voice is low and full of awareness of the danger of the situation.

“No! I want to know why they’re leaving Oliver to die!” Felicity shouts over him, eyes latched on to Anatoli.

The man meets her eyes and turns back to the desk. He doesn’t answer the question, just reaches into a desk drawer. A bottle of clear liquid lands on the wooden surface with a thunk followed by three shot glasses. He pours a healthy dose of liquid into each glass and holds two out to Felicity and John.

Felicity sniffs it suspiciously as Anatoli raises his own glass.

“прочность,” he cheers before he downs the drink. “Vodka,” is the only explanation he offers as he pours himself another glass.

Feeling her hand start to shake, Felicity raises her glass in salute and drowns the liquor in one swallow. It slides smoothly down her throat, the aftertaste a burn. She doesn’t even offer a token protest as Anatoli fills her glass again. This time, she clinks her glass against his before throwing the shot back.

John gently sets his glass on the table. Anatoli downs the drink instead. 

“Why don’t you tell us what’s really going on?” Digg suggests.

Felicity nods at his no-nonsense attitude as she swallows through the burn of alcohol.

“The man who took Oliver isn’t someone to mess with,” Anatoli responds. “Oliver – as strong as he is – won’t last long there.”

“He’s still alive,” Felicity answers. Pain radiates from her shoulder, and Felicity pours herself a shot. “I’m not leaving him to die.”

“The Triad has him?”

Felicity jerks her head towards Diggle.

“The Triad?”

“Worse,” Anatoli mutters. His shot glass is already full. He doesn’t take a sip as he avoids eye contact. “The man who kidnapped Oliver owns this city. Going after him is suicide. Oliver would not forgive me if I let you go.”

She scowls. “Let’s get one thing straight: neither you nor Oliver lets me do anything. I am going after my soulmate. I just killed a man in cold blood because nothing means more to me than bringing my soulmate home alive. If you think posturing and vague declarations of my opponent’s strength is going to stop me, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“If you go against him, he will kill you. I cannot be responsible for your death. I owe that much to my friend.” Anatoli points at her. “You are under our protection. I cannot allow you leave.”

Unacceptable. She will not be held prisoner while her soulmate suffers. It would not be acceptable under any circumstances, but especially now when his pain echoes through her body and makes it hard to move. She cannot stand by while this happens.

She glances back at Diggle whose obstinate scowl shows they’re on the same page. He nods solemnly at her unasked question before Felicity turns back to the head of the Bratva.

“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Kynazev,” she says diplomatically. Her hands clasp before her as she forces a smile on her face. “We appreciate your assistance.”

“Please, call me Anatoli.” He considers her for a moment. Her determination must show on her face because instead of protesting again, Anatoli pulls the gun from earlier out of the waistband of his pants and places it on the desk. “You’re going to need this.”

Felicity hesitates, not keen for the feel of cool metal in her hand again.

“We have our own weapons,” John says with a nod. “Thank you for your help.”

His hand lands on Felicity’s elbow, pulling her towards the door. Felicity pulls back for another moment. “Just one last thing: Give me the name of the man who has Oliver.”

Anatoli jerks in the approximation of a nod. “Of course. The Dark Archer.”

She frowns. That tells her nothing. Absolutely nothing. They haven’t come across another archer in the past couple months. Seeing her confusion, Anatoli clarifies:

“Malcolm Merlyn.”

A chill runs up Felicity’s spine at the information. Everything starts to click into place, her brain making connections as Diggle leads her quickly from the office and through the garage full of gangsters. John’s the only reason they manage to get out of the building before her babble spews out:

“Should I call Tommy? I should call Tommy. This is his father we’re talking about. He wouldn’t kidnap Oliver, would he?” Felicity types commands into her phone to send searches to her computers in the Foundry as she speaks. She barely notices her actions as she slides into the cool leather seat of the town car. She’s not even sure about the words that are coming out of her mouth anymore. They’re just keeping her mind off what just happened.

“Of course maybe that’s just part of the deception. Maybe Tommy really is evil. Then he’s really good about it because who would suspect Tommy Merlyn. He’s so light-hearted and happy all the time. Not that he’s flighty, but he doesn’t seem capable of murder and kidnapping or torture, or instilling fear into the blackest hearts of Starling’s mob bosses.

“I don’t think Tommy knows,” John points out. Felicity throws him a glare as his calm grates on her nerves. She fidgets with her seatbelt and redirects her gaze to the road ahead.

He’s right though. Tommy’s too nice to accept this. Felicity only met Malcolm on one occasion, but even she could tell he and Tommy weren’t close. It’s not unthinkable that Tommy had no idea what his father’s doing.

Felicity starts flicking through the results of her Malcolm Merlyn search as John carefully drives them back to the Foundry. The more she thinks about it, the more convinced Felicity becomes that Malcolm really is a terrible person. Sure, the big, public things Malcolm does are golden, but the more Felicity digs, the shadier his enterprises become.

She can’t help but consider that Oliver’s best friend might have betrayed him. Her mind is on a rollercoaster of worst-case scenarios. She hasn’t felt any change in her pain in the past hour of waiting. Instead, her whole body just aches, pulsing in intensity.

The only comfort she can find is that her mark is still inky black.

“I just hate waiting!” Felicity exclaims. “We need to do something!”

“I did something. I send a text to Lyla,” John explains calmly.

“Lyla? How’s that supposed to help? I get that you’re all ‘secret agent’ and everything, but this doesn’t have anything to do with A.R.G.U.S.? We have to save Oliver! Now! Why are we heading to the Foundry and not that warehouse?”

“Because we need to research, and we need back-up.”

Felicity scowls, but nods in acknowledgement. “Fine. But only because I’m not longer in piercing pain.”

...

“How much longer until they get here?”

John sighs. “It’s been forty minutes. I had to call in quite a few favors to do this.”

“I don’t think you understand, John. The love of my life is dying and we’re sitting here waiting on a shady government organization to send reinforcements. There has to be something we can do!”

“We talked about this after the garage,” John explains patiently for the fifth time. “There is no way the two of us could have rescued Oliver.”

“We don’t know that!” Felicity whirls on him, turning away from her three hardworking computer screens. “We just took Anatoli’s word for it. Who knows? We could have succeeded!”

“Felicity, I know you’re desperate to get Oliver back, but we need to know what we’re up against. There’s no way the two of us would have been able to save him on our own.” He sighs and leans forward. “We need to talk about what you did back there.”

She waves him off as she turns away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? Felicity, you killed a man.”

Felicity winces at the reminder, but dismisses it. She’s not stupid: they need to talk about what happened. It was messed up, morally ambiguous, and emotionally compromising. She just can’t stand to think about it right now. “We can talk when Oliver’s home.”

“Or we can talk now while we wait for back up.” John leans back against a table, hands clasped in front of him.

“Or I could get back to digging up dirt on Malcolm.” She rolls her shoulder, the only tell that Oliver’s pain still bothers her.

“Felicity.” He pulls her chair back from her computers and spins her around. “I’m not going to lecture you. I understand why you did what you did.” He sighs. “I don’t like it, but I get it. All you want is Oliver back as soon as possible, but killing takes a toll, especially your first kill.”

She’s fine. She’s accepted what happened until those last eight words hit her like an anvil. She’s the Wylie Coyote brought down by her own actions. She’s hardly aware of her actions as she crumples under Digg’s gaze.

The shaking returns with force and tears coat her cheeks as she clings to John. With her eyes closed, Felicity can almost imagine that the arms around her belong to someone else. Almost.

Anton’s body flashes before her eyes, the pool of spreading blood spreading to engulf her. It sends her racing from Diggle to the garbage can she keeps at the end of her desk. Her body rebels against her, spewing the contents of her last meal, whatever that was.

Her body forces every existing bit of food and liquid from her body in violent expulsions until there’s nothing left. She pukes until her abs hurt from exertion. Her whole body feels even more abused than it did from Oliver’s torture.

She can barely stomach the water Digg hands her to rinse out her mouth. She spits it back into the garbage bin before she wipes her mouth and gets shakily to her feet.

“Thank you.” Felicity toasts with the water bottle and takes a tentative sip. There’s a suspenseful moment when she thinks she might throw up again, but it stays down and she swallows more.

“You handled it about as well as any soldier I’ve ever known, and certainly better than I did,” John admits even though he still eyes her carefully.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not.”

John shrugs and leans back into his seat like it doesn’t matter to him one way or another.

Felicity’s not done though. “You do realize that you calling in A.R.G.U.S. defeats the purpose of us not going to them earlier, right? I mean, that was why I decided the Bratva was the easier choice rather than becoming indebted to Amanda Waller. Yet, here we are waiting on Waller’s troops. We’re still in trouble.”

“Waller deals in information. Foot soldiers are nothing. I might know them through A.R.G.U.S., but technically they’re the task force Lyla and I are in charge of. This is an official mission.” John grins smugly.

Felicity tilts her head. “How do you figure?”

“If the Bratva is scared of Malcolm Merlyn, that means he’s worse than the organized crime we’ve been going after. The reasons might be skewed, but it works. Lyla agrees with me. How are you feeling?”

The question catches her off-guard and Felicity blinks before answering. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“No more pain?”

It’s disturbing that he’s that astute. Felicity thought she had been hiding it well, or at least well enough that he hadn’t realized it. She takes stock of all her aches. “There’s pain, but none of it’s new, which I guess means they’ve stopped for now. I’m just not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

Digg nods solemnly. Then he picks up the bottle of pills, a quick shake making it evident there was a single pill left. “How many have you had?” 

She winces. She can still feel the piercing pain in her shoulders, but she’s had more than she probably should have already and they both know it. 

“How bad is it?” 

It’s his gentle voice that breaks her. She’s held it together for hours, held it together when she didn’t think she could. She was sure she screamed a little bit when the pain burst around her collarbone as she pulled the trigger. 

She didn’t tell John because she didn’t want this: the false assurances that everything will be okay. They both know this could go either way. Maybe they can get Oliver out of this mess. He’s still going to be damaged and hurt, but he’ll be in their care. Unfortunately, the only other option is Oliver’s death.

That option’s unacceptable. 

That’s the pain she can’t stand.

_ Beep _ .

Felicity’s head jerks up at John’s text tone, waiting with baited breath as he reads the message. She’s standing and ready before he even announces the verdict:

“They’re here.”

She nods and wipes the remaining wet spots from her cheeks as she stands tall. The time for weakness is over.

It’s time to bring Oliver home.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_ Pain. _

Excruciating pain that radiates through every bone in his body, a deep ache he feels in his soul. This kind of pain could sever a soul-bond. It’s worse than anything he’s ever experienced. Then again...why is he still alive now?

Shouldn’t he be dead already?

...

_ Darkness _ .

Darkness so black he’s not sure his eyes are even open at first. Oliver wonders if he’s gone blind. Did they do something to him while he was asleep?

He fades back into unconsciousness before he has the time to investigate. It’s too much.

...

_ Cold _ .

There’s something wet.

But the pain that screams through Oliver’s body pulls him back into unconsciousness a moment later.

...

“I’m seeing nine heat signatures. There are three gathered in the center of the building, which I’m guessing is probably where Oliver will be.” Felicity slides over to another screen. “According to city blueprints, there’s three levels. We can rule out the third floor. It’s a loft.”

She scrolls through the blueprints. “The second floor has a whole bunch of stuff, so that’s a good spot to check. And the basement, which is probably the best place to look. If I was torturing someone, I would keep them in the basement. Speaking of which: this whole satellite-imaging thing is  _ beautiful _ ! Where can I get one?  _ Can _ I get one?”

“ _ Does Blondie always talk this much? _ ”

Felicity purses her lips at the rough voice on the other side of the comms. She’s not crazy about any of the members of Lyla’s team, but at least Floyd Lawton seems to be good at his job, which Felicity really needs right now.

“Can it, Deadshot. That blonde could erase you from the face of the Earth,” Lyla responds with a hint of amusement from her spot beside Felicity.

Felicity taps her fingertips against the desk as they banter. She’s profoundly lost without Oliver’s voice over the comms. It intensifies the aches throughout her body. It’s completely cliché and overdone, but Felicity didn’t even realize how much she missed hearing Oliver’s voice.

“ _ Ha! No offense to your computer whiz, Harbinger, but I don’t leave a trace for her to erase. I haven’t in years. _ ”

Felicity snorts and pulls up another window. “Maybe that’s true, Lawton, especially with A.R.G.U.S. covering your footsteps. But your money, I found that.” She gleefully scrolled through the accounts. “Three off-shore accounts. Impressive. Waller must not know about these yet, huh?”

The comms are a mess of laughter, teasing and sputtering as Felicity closes down the window and slides back to her satellite views and searches for Malcolm Merlyn.

“ _ How did you find those accounts? _ ”

“If it’s online, I can find it,” Felicity announces proudly, recalling a similar conversation with Oliver. "But don’t worry, I won’t touch it. All the money will still go to your daughter in event of your untimely demise.”

“ _ Don’t talk about my daughter _ ,” Lawton growls.

“ _ You have a kid, Lawton _ ?” The comms are now suspiciously silent with the new information.

“ _ Shut it, Shrapnel _ .”

“Focus, boys. It’s time to get back to work.”  Lyla leans into the satellite image as she speaks, eyes darting to locate their team of five.

“ _ Which brings us to another question: Why isn’t Harbinger here _ ? _ ” _

Felicity can’t identify the speaker, but the bawdy responses fill the comms, followed by a high pitched:

“ _ Yeah. Now it’s even more of a boys club _ .”

Lyla rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, Harley. I’m just on maternity leave, and I’m in the van a couple blocks over guarding Blondie. I’ll be back and shouting orders at you in no time.”

“ _ You’re pregnant?!” _ The three voices speaking in tandem range from excitement to boredom.

“ _ Is that why Daddy Diggle’s so tense? _ ” Harley offers in a baby voice.

“ _ Guys, we have a job to do here _ ,” John’s stern voice interrupts.

“ _ Someone’s a little touchy. _ ”

“There are four guards patrolling the perimeter,” Lyla announces. The voices on the other end of the comms shut up immediately, focused on the fight ahead. “Two more a little off-center, and then two grouped in the center. What can you guys see?”

“ _ Two on the roof _ ,” Lawton reports. “ _ No windows so we can’t get a visual on the inside. _ ”

Lyla takes control of the mouse to zoom in on the live feed. “Okay. With that information, I can say that the four on perimeter duty are rotating around the inside of the building. Deadshot, can you take out the two on the roof.”

“ _ With pleasure. _ ”

“Okay, so Freelancer and Deadshot, enter from the roof. Harley, Shrapnel, and Tigerclaw, make a hole and bust in that way. Make as much noise as you want.”

“ _ Deadly force? _ ”

Felicity nods at Lyla’s questioning glance, but she pushes back from her desk anyway. With a deep breath, Felicity channels the cool, collected woman who shot a man earlier in order to get Oliver’s location. Internally, she’s a mess. She can still feel the recoil of the gun, and it seems to reverberate with Oliver’s pain echoing in her body. Anton’s body seems to be painted on her eyelids every time they flutter closed. She wants to move around the van, to play with the computers some more, to exorcise her demons away, but the black tactical van is much smaller than the Foundry. So Felicity’s forced to remain impassive as Lyla outlines their plan.

“Yes. We don’t know the skill level of our opponents, but we have a reliable source that says they’re formidable.”

“ _ Define reliable _ .”

“Leader of the Bratva,” Felicity adds for Lawton.

“ _ Shit. Couldn’t be easy, could it? _ ” Shrapnel mutters darkly.

“ _ Suicide Squad, _ ” Lawton adds grimly. “ _ What did you expect? _ ”

“Enough talking, boys. Get into position.”

...

“Ugh.” Oliver groans back to life, once again surprised to see he survived this long.

He can’t say he sees the point to Malcolm keeping him alive, as grim as that prospect might be. Obviously, Oliver knows  _ something _ from his father. He wouldn’t be going after people on the list without some sort of knowledge. So what is it that Malcolm thinks he knows?

Admittedly, Oliver knows next to nothing. He hadn’t even known the list was Malcolm’s.

Oliver bites back a scream of agony as he shifts himself into a sitting position.

The good news: he’s no longer tied to a chair.

The bad news: The room he’s in is pitch black.

It’s a different room than earlier: the rough stone at his back feels curved and his hands reaching out to the sides confirm the curve of the wall until the pain forces his arms down again. That and the space feels small. The air is stagnant, damp, constricted. Not just because it’s dark. If everything curves like the stones at Oliver’s back, the enclosure can’t be more than five feet across.

It’s probably taller than it is around. Without a any light to see by, Oliver can’t be sure, but he’s willing to bet this is a pit: tall enough that he can’t climb out and no door on his level. He needs to move, to investigate the space, but even the slightest movement jars his collarbone, which they didn’t bother to treat this time around.

“Shit.” The realization is too strong to keep inside. This – whatever this turns out to be – is Malcolm’s last gambit. If Oliver holds out, he’s dead. He’s never going to see his family ever again. He won’t get a chance to say goodbye.

What will Malcolm tell his mother? Will he tell her anything at all?

No. If Oliver’s going to make it through this alive, he’s going to have to get himself out of here. He refuses to sit around and wait for death, regardless of his injuries. A couple minutes of blinding pain, where he may or may not have passed out for a moment, Oliver discerns two breaks in his collarbone, neither of which have broken the skin. By some stroke of luck, he doesn’t seem to have to set any bones either, a blessing he hadn’t dared to hope for.

The next step is to slowly rise to his feet.

His new best friend is the wall. He braces his hand on the wall until his feet can safely take his weight and he straightens to his full height. Six foot two and his head doesn’t brush any sort of ceiling. A tentative hand reaching up until the point of protesting pain fails to find any barrier either.

The stone around him is a mixture of smooth and rough, like bricks that have been down there too long. He runs his hand along it, but the wall is seamless, offering nothing in the way of handholds to climb out. Given the state of his collarbone, Oliver’s not sure he could climb out anyway.

Oliver’s search shifts back to the walls. He staggers along the curved edge of the room, running his hand over the walls in a desperate search for a door. The movement pulls at the patched knife wounds on his legs, only sheer determination and control keep the groans of pain inside.

He loses track of where he started – not that he really had a landmark in the pitch-black enclosure – but it’s clear after fifteen minutes that the room is a circle.  Oliver’s been dropped into a pit.

The stone is rough against Oliver’s bare back as he slides down the wall to sit again. Isolation and starvation it is. They probably won’t give him enough time to get a decent sleep either. It’ll be a slow and painful death.

Oliver tilts back until his head meets the wall. His eyes cast around the blackness above him for a hit of light, something to showcase the top of this container, whatever it might be.

But there’s nothing.

Only darkness.

...

“We’re going to get him back, Felicity. I promise.”

Felicity glances at the comms to see that they’re muted, and she shrugs. The information she’s managed to dredge up on Malcolm’s shady dealings are damning. To someone who didn’t have a copy of Oliver’s list, the connections were non-existent, but Felicity had spent the months since her soulmate’s return sifting through that information. She knew some of those people better than she knew herself.

She couldn’t connect him to everyone, but the complicated web and hierarchy were becoming clear as she continued to look. Some connections were inferred – like Malcolm’s connection to a couple major companies in the area. None of the big names were on the list: Malcolm, Robert Queen, Moira. Yet every name in the book connected to a large company in Starling City.

There were no mob contacts, no foreign associates, none that Felicity could unearth.

Except...

Malcolm’s extended absence after his wife’s death. Felicity wasn’t able to fill in any holes there. She knows Malcolm flew out of the country, but once the plane landed, she couldn’t find a trace of the billionaire. It’s unsurprising that an evil mastermind would know the value of keeping things offline, but Felicity has never found it more frustrating than she does in this instant.

“Felicity?”

She blinks back to reality, and deliberately shrugs. “Whether we get her back or not, Malcolm Merlyn is going to pay for what he’s done.”

“We’re going to find him, and we’re going to take Malcolm down. You don’t have to do this right now.”

Felicity takes a deep breath and nods in understanding. “I get it Lyla, I really do. But I can’t burst through doors and shoot people to save him, but this... _ this _ is something I can do. This is useful.”

“You know, John didn’t tell me how you found out about this location.”

Lyla’s not stupid. She’s aware that something happened. Felicity and John were notably tense when they met up with Lyla. It’s shocking it took her this long to question Felicity.

“I did what I needed to do,” Felicity answers, opening up the comms to cut off any other questions.  

A hand smacks the mute button again. “Felicity.”

“Lyla, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Lyla frowns disapprovingly from the sidelines, but doesn’t stop Felicity from unmuting the comms. A decision Felicity almost immediately regrets as the sounds of combat fill the small van. She resists the instinctual wince at the sound of violence and focuses on the pain continuing to radiate through her body, suddenly sharper like they’ve been agitated. But there’s no additional pain, which she’s thankful for.

She’s not sure she could stand more pain without completely breaking down.

Felicity checks back in with the monitors, frowning as the dots don’t seem to be moving despite the sounds she’s hearing over the comms.

“What’s going on in there, Johnny,” Lyla demands, seeming to have the same realization Felicity. This is taking way too long. It should be simple. Even with Anatoli’s warnings, Felicity was sure it would be a smooth mission.

But now it feels like her organs have been scooped from her chest, turning her into a hollow vessel with nothing left except the vague hope of her soulmate’s return.

“ _ Little busy here _ ,” John grunts over the system.

“ _ These boys really bounce back. Hey! That’s not nice! _ ”

“ _ I want it on the record that Quinn is crazy. _ ”

“What’s going on?” Lyla repeats.

Several shots sound into the night, not quiet or past, but slow, one shot at a time like each one is precisely picked out.

“ _ These aren’t rent-a-cops, _ ” Deadshot elaborates, each word precise. “ _ These are trained assassins. If I didn’t know better, I’d say League of Assassins. _ ”

“League of...” Felicity trails off with a frown. “Seriously? They couldn’t come up with a better name?”

“If it is the League, we’re in trouble,” Lyla mutters. “Are you sure, Deadshot?”

“ _ Three down. _ ” Deadshot confirms with another gunshot. “ _ League-trained, but the League wouldn’t get involved in something like this. They don’t take prisoners. _ ”

Felicity grips the arms of her chair harder, her knuckles white, only to be shocked into motion as she scrambles to check the mark on her hip. The arrow stands stark black against her pale skin, but there’s something different.  Instead of crisp black edges, the lines on the edge were fading into red.

She stares at it, shocked at the change, even if it was barely noticeable. “Something’s wrong,” she whispers to herself, running her hands over her skin in growing terror. They need to find Oliver. Now.

...

Freezing water sends Oliver moving instinctively from one end of the small room to the other. It works well enough until the searing pain of his broken bones pulls a scream from his throat. He wasn’t aware he had that much of a voice left in him. But he was done with cold water after the shit show that was the last four years.

He doesn’t know when he nodded off, but Oliver turns to stare up at the hole in the ceiling just as another bucket of frigid water drenches him, this time full in the face. It stuns him and leaves him sputtering as a third bucketful descends.

The tatters of his clothes are drenched, his whole body enveloped in a chill so in contrast to his heated skin that it causes him to shiver uncontrollably.

“So, Oliver, anything to say?” Malcolm taunts. He doesn’t wait for a response before upending another bucket on him.

He remains silent, fighting the next two cold buckets.

“I’ll give you a little time to think it over.” Malcolm’s voice echoes oddly around the well. “I imagine you’re not too fond of water at this point.”

Oliver doesn’t protest, just struggles to keep the shivers at bay as long as possible.

It’s still not long until the bone-deep cold he thought he’d left behind seeps in.

...

“ _ Something’s not right _ ,” Digg murmurs, his doubts perfectly picked up by the sensitive mics of the comms.

Felicity doesn’t need to be told that. There are two dots left to be taken out. She sees them right in the center of the satellite feed. They’re so close, but John’s on to something. This all feels too easy.

Then again, she wasn’t the fighting people who had an apparent connection to something called the “League of Assassins.”

“ _ Two targets left sweet-cheeks! You know, for assassins, they don’t do too well. _ ”

The crazy blonde has a point, one she actually agrees with. Felicity shakes her head. She should probably stop referring to Harley Quinn as a crazy person.

“ _ Thanks, Sunshine! I’ll take that as a compliment! _ ”

Oops. Hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Felicity sighs, massaging the back of her neck to relieve some of the tension from Oliver’s transferred pain.

“Let’s just find Oliver,” she insists. “According to the blueprints, the two dots should be at the end of that hallway on the right.”

“ _ Got it _ ,” a voice whispers, too quiet to determine who spoke.

Tension is heavy in the air, nearly suffocating in the close atmosphere of the van. On the screen, their five dots move slowly towards the last two unknowns. Her colorful nails dig into her armrest, so hard her joints ache. She rests on the edge of her chair in preparation to move as soon as they get information.

The wait for those dots to reach the end of the hallway feel interminable. They slink along so slowly as to be barely evident from her bird’s eye view. She’s sure it doesn’t take nearly as long as she thinks it is before they’re stopping right outside the door.

_ Crash. _

There goes the door.

_ Bang Bang _ .

Felicity forgets to breathe as the gunshots echo through the comms.

Lyla reaches out to grasp her hand, saving her from breaking the chair. Although her grip is now threatening to break Lyla’s hand.

“ _ I’m sorry, Felicity. _ ” Digg doesn’t have to finish the statement before she even knows what he’s about to say. “ _ He’s not here _ .”

She wants to scream, to rage to the universe. This isn’t possible. She  _ killed _ a man for this information. Anatoli wouldn’t lie to her, not where Oliver is concerned. Of course, there’s no way for her to know for sure. But she believed him. She saw honesty in his eyes. He wouldn’t knowingly lie.

But after this, their information runs dry.

This can’t be a dead end.

_ It can’t _ .

With that determination, Felicity stands and throws open the door of the van. There must be a clue here. And they’re going to find it.  _ She’s _ going to find it. She refuses to give up on Oliver. She will get him back.

The cool night air seeps into her skin as she strides straight for the hole blasted in the wall of the warehouse. Shrapnel did a good job of opening the side of the building. If they weren’t in the Glades, there would have been a police response already. They hadn’t exactly been the quietest of people.

“Felicity! You can’t go in there!” Lyla shouts, following behind a little more gingerly because of her protruding stomach.

Chunks of debris from the explosion clutter the otherwise empty warehouse as Felicity picks her way inside. With singular focus on the room in the basement, Felicity steps over sprawling bodies, and more disgustingly severed body parts, to get to the stairs.

She pauses a moment before opening the door to the stairs, reconsidering for a moment as she gazes at the red smear that covers the painted metal. A wave of cold radiates from her mark in that instant. Not an echo of pain, but a shiver that shakes her into motion.

She rushes down the stairs, hand curled around the railing like a lifeline.

The cold is invasive. By the time her feet reach the bottom of the stairs, the cold has sapped the warmth from her extremities. The light coming from the open door draws her down the hallway.

A tall, military figure emerges as she nears the end of the hallway.

“You don’t want to go in there, sweetheart,” a deep voice recommends. Felicity can’t make out his face since its cast in shadow, but she brushes past him.  

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she growls as she steps into the basement.

The bright light blinds her for a moment.

“Felicity,” Digg warns, blocking her view of the room in an instant.

She glares at him and steps around him to get a look at the basement, only to feel the bile rise in her throat.

She doesn’t need a comprehensive on torture to know the metal tub, chair, and electrical equipment are not good news. Neither is the red tinge on the floor like someone tried to mop up blood.

Oliver was here.

Felicity shivers at the imposed cold. She allows herself a moment – just one – to grieve the tortures Oliver must have endured here. It solves some mysteries about what she felt. This cold though...there’s nothing here to explain that.

“You don’t have to see this, Felicity,” John whispers. He moves to guide her from the room with a gentle nudge.

With a deep breath to brace herself, she turns back to Lyla and John’s team.

“Were you all always this tall?” Maybe it’s just her lack of heels, but suddenly Felicity feels tiny compared to all the warriors in the room. She shakes her head because that’s not the issue that needs to be addressed right now.

“Nevermind.” Her arms cross over her chest to dispel a shiver. “That’s not important. Oliver was here. Now we need to find out where they took him. We haven’t had any movement on the video feeds, so there has to be some way to move him without bringing him up to street level. We need to find it.”

“Lis,” Lyla warns. “You can’t be sure Oliver was even the one here. That could be anyone’s blood.”

“It’s his,” she asserts, walking around the room as her brain reels with new information. “There has to be something here. We’re wasting time. They had to move him through this basement somehow. Otherwise we would have seen them leave.”

They exchange looks behind her back, a shared glance of awareness at the situation before they follow her into action. She barely notices John and Lyla’s muttered commands to the rest of their team in her search for some sort of secret passage like the kind that would exist in a castle.

Eons pass, and yet it must just be mere minutes – the cold swirling under her skin prolonging time – before she finally hears the cry she’s been waiting for:

“I’ve found something.”

...

The frigid water now reaches halfway up his chest. It’s more than just the cold causing his shortness of breath. As loathe as Oliver is to admit it, fear  - fear of drowning, fear of death and what it will do to his soulmate, fear of not being able to tell her how he feels before it’s all over – it’s getting to him.

Bucket after bucket of cold water splashes into the pit, ever so slowly filling the room with water. Darkness has consumed him once more and he’s not sure how Malcolm managed to get the water to continue to fall, but he’s out of the direct spray now.

Sometimes the water falls in a trickle. Others a deluge. At first it was a way to count the passage of time, something to take his mind off the pain. Then it appeared there was no pattern to the fall of the water.

Or maybe Oliver’s coming in and out of consciousness. Maybe hypothermia is starting to set in. Maybe his wounds are getting the better of him.

The pain numbs in the cold water, becoming less and less until a jarring movement sends sparks of pain to his brain.

It’s only a matter of time before he dies. In his condition, he can’t swim. He can’t climb the walls.

He’s trapped down here at Malcolm’s mercy.

And if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he won’t break, not here, not now. If he’s going to drown in frigid water, he’s not going to give Malcolm the satisfaction of winning.

The water inches up his neck, and Oliver finally gathers the strength to heave himself up onto his feet. His right leg gives out, sending him crashing against the stone wall.

“Agggggggghhhhhhhhhh,” he groans against the stone wall, the skin on his hands scraping against the rough surface. The break in his collarbone shifts slightly with the impact and something akin to a whimper escapes him.

He straightens and leans back against the wall. The water now sits low on his thigh, buying him time, but his head spins and his leg shakes with the effort of keeping him upright.

Another deluge of water splashes on top of Oliver and he loses his tenuous footing and crashes into water that now covers his head. Desperately he fights to the surface against the crippling pain that threatens to drag him into the land of unconsciousness again. He manages to pull himself over the waterline.

Gasps of air burn his lungs and the water isn’t stopping. It continues to pour down even as Oliver brokenly struggles to lift himself above the surface.

Then the water lands on him just so and Oliver loses his grip.

Freezing water and waves of pain pull him under.

And all he knows is darkness.

...

The hallway Deadshot found is dark and cold. The only thing needed to complete the creepy atmosphere is suspenseful music. Felicity almost expects it to come blasting out of hidden speakers just to break some of the tension of the moment.

“Felicity, are you sure you don’t want to wait back at the van?” Lyla whispers from their position at the back of the armed group.

She shakes her head before she blinks to regain focus. Her body feels weird, weightless...

The black door at the end of the hallway has all her attention. It serves as her focus. Maybe it’s just her imagination, but Felicity feels it pulling her in, drawing her closer through her connection to her soulmate.

“He’s close.” Her voice sounds fainter than it should. Is the room closing in on her?

Felicity feels eyes on her, but her mind is preoccupied with the strange sensations flooding her body that culminate in a single searing pain.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

It burns. And unlike earlier pain, it’s centered with pinpoint accuracy on her side. Her skin is white hot, too hot to touch. She wants to claw at it, to tear the offending section of skin from her body like it was a piece of clothing.

She just wants the pain to stop.

It’s a thousand times worse than any pain she’s felt from the mark before. 

“I’ve got her. The rest of you  _ get in there! Now! _ ”

“You heard her! Move!”

“Lyla,” Felicity manages to choke out around her pain, her hand latching onto Lyla’s in an iron grasp.

“It’s okay, Felicity. It’s going to be okay.” Lyla’s hand brushes Felicity’s hair back from her face although they both know her words are empty promises.

She doesn’t need to look down at her mark to know what she’ll find. It’s scarred over. The inky blackness gone in favor of a reddish scar. But it doesn’t matter. She won’t believe Oliver’s dead until she sees it with her own eyes. 

With determination she didn’t know she had, Felicity pulled herself upright. She barely makes it a step before she falls sideways into a wall. There are gunshots and shouts from the room ahead, a room they didn’t have time to scout, but Felicity continues willfully forward, Lyla hovering at her side like a mama bird.

One step after another, the cold wall her crutch.

She staggers into the room to find three guns trained on Malcolm Merlyn. She straightens, the pain a dull ache in the back of her mind as she strides forward with sudden confidence.

“Where is he?” John demands calmly.

Malcolm just laughs. “You’re too late.” His eyes latch on Felicity as he adds: “But I bet you already know that.”

Felicity ignores him. Instead she grabs Digg’s gun from his holster and points it at the grinning villain. “Tell us where he is and I’ll kill you quickly.”

Her mark is gone, which means something unspeakable has happened to Oliver and she’s not about to let this nut job walk free. The men around her shift in surprise, but keep their weapons firmly trained on Malcolm.

“You don’t have it in you,” he sneers.

He might be right. If today had progressed differently, she wouldn’t have even had the nerve to pick up the gun. But that wasn’t the case. Today she lost her soulmate and killed a man.

Malcolm Merlyn shouldn’t be underestimating her.

_ Bang. _

One shot through the foot has him writhing in pain. “Bitch.”

She blinks and aims the gun at his other foot. “I may not be proficient in torture, but I’m low on patience and time. Where is Oliver?”

_ Bang. _

“Well, lookie what I found!” The perky blonde cries. “I could use a little help here, boys! I found ‘im!”

Digg moves to look over Harley’s shoulder and Felicity keeps her eyes trained on the man before her, unable to contemplate what Oliver will look like once they find him, or the jarring reality of his death.

Sensing her reluctance, Merlyn smiles. “We both know you’re too late. Looks like your little rescue mission was all for nothing.”

_ Bang. _

Those are the last words Malcolm Merlyn will ever speak, but this time Felicity’s not the one to pull the trigger. Her head jerks to the side as Deadshot releases two more bullets just to make sure the job is done.

_ Bang Bang. _

Lawton shrugs at her look, but Felicity doesn’t regret the decision in the slightest. She probably would have made Malcolm suffer more for what he did to Oliver, but that’s the least of her worries now. 

No. Her world is falling apart as they pull Oliver’s drenched and mangled body from a well in the floor. There’s blood and what looks like bone that breaks through his skin. His body is sickly pale, and she doesn’t have to look down at her mark to know it’s already a scar.

She wants to take a step closer, to take comfort in one last touch, but her body refuses to move.

This can’t be happening.

Her world was never supposed to fall apart.

Not like this.

Her body shakes with sobs as she cries his name, insensible to the actions of the team around her and the words flying about. All she knows is supreme sorrow, the kind that leaves you hollow and lost.

Numb.

Her soulmate is dead.  

How does she come back from this?

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Beep._

_ Beep. _

_ Beep _ .

Steady and strong, the sounds continue at regular intervals. It takes a minute or two before he recognizes the beeps for what they are: heartbeats.  _ His _ heartbeats.

He’s alive.

His first instinct is to open his eyes, to move. But his eyelids are so heavy that thinking about moving them hurts, and his body doesn’t want to respond to his order to move. Yet he  _ has  _ to. Something’s wrong. He has to find Felicity. He has to see her, to make sure she’s alright, because something feels off and he has no idea how to explain it.

The first thing he moves is a fingertip. It’s a feeble movement, a jerk more than conscious movement, but it’s an improvement.

A warm hand slides into his and squeezes.

“Oliver?”

He struggles to open his eyes, desperate for the blonde hair and caring blue eyes of his soulmate. She’s here, clutching his hand. How did he get here? Where is here? 

The last thing he remembers is cold water numbing the pain of his injuries as it slowly suffocated him. In short: it was his worst nightmare.

“Fe-liss-ty,” he mutters as his eyelids finally flutter open.

She’s beautiful: bathed in brilliant sunlight that bounces off her golden tresses. Even if there are dark blue bags under her eyes, and her hair hangs a little limp, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Thank God. I thought I lost you,” she whispers, the hand not gripped in his reaching up to cup his cheek.

He tries to smile, as if his whole body isn’t pleasantly numb thanks to what he can only assume is some very heavy medication. “I shouldn’t be alive,” he manages.

Tears well in her eyes as she looks down at him, a few errant drops slip off her face and if he could move, Oliver would tenderly wipe them away. But the machines he’s hooked into and the casts make it nearly impossible. 

She lifts her hand from his face to wipe them away herself. “You died, Oliver.”

He freezes, remembering it, remembering the cold saturating his bones. He remembers losing consciousness, his last thought of her. It felt like floating after that.

“We found you moments after you...” She chokes on the words, her hand moving to land on his mark. “They pulled you from the pit, and someone – I think it was Digg – performed CPR.”

Slowly, he turns his head to face her, testing the limits of his body as his strength grows. He’s feeling better than expected. Her words trigger a memory, or a vague approximation of one.

Sputtering and a shocked breath. Then lights and noise. Voices.

There are no clear images that spring forward, but Oliver can pinpoint the moment he came back. He can even guess what moments took place in the hospital, in the ambulance. But his sense of time is gone, completely vacant. 

“How long have I been out?”

Felicity takes in a stuttering breath as her hands continue to roam over his body as if it’s the only way to check that he’s actually there. “They put you into a medically induced coma, so your body could heal a bit. Your body sustained massive damage. The doctors were amazed by how much you survived.”

There’s something she’s not telling him, and it breaks his heart that she keeps checking each and every one of his injuries. She doesn’t even have to look. She’s memorized his wounds. And God, he wishes she never had to take something like that on. 

“Felicity,” he presses, “how long have I been out?”

“Two...two months.” The words fall from her lips like lead weights, like each one could bring about imminent disaster. 

“Two-” Oliver pauses. No. That’s not what he wants to ask. How much time has passed isn’t what he needs to dwell on. It’s passed. He can’t change that. “How did I get here?” 

“A.R.G.U.S...they did something,” Felicity mumbles, eyes focused on her hands stroking his body. “I’m not sure what. I was pretty out of it too when they brought us in. But there’s a whole cover story. You’re a hero now. Oliver Queen you, not Hood-you.” 

So Waller spun a story. Not hard to believe. Her letting him go back to his family...that’s surprising. Last time she had him in her sights, he was forced to do her bidding, and now she has even better leverage, he’s surprised to say the least. 

“Why would they do that?” Something isn’t adding up even in his still drug-clouded brain. 

Felicity shrugs, her hand grazing down his arm to intertwine their fingers. “I didn’t ask. Lyla mentioned something about Malcolm being a public figure. I think the truth just worked in our favor...well, most of the truth...anyway.” 

Oliver hums in agreement, content as he watches her. If he wasn’t exhausted, he would pull his soulmate into his arms. It’s been two months too long since he’s held her, two months too long since he felt her skin pressed against his, felt her mark under his fingertips. 

“I felt it, you know,” she whispers conversationally as her hand drifts along his collarbone, her way of filling the silence. “It wasn’t as bad as when you drank that potion in Russia, but...I still felt it all. I don’t know how you lasted so long.”

He wants to comfort her, to take away the echo of pain she still must feel. He wants to reassure her, but the burst of energy is gone. With her warm touch, he falls back asleep with a smile on his face.

He’s home and everything will be all right.

...

“Yeah, Thea, he’s awake,” Felicity whispers into the phone from outside the hospital room. The door is open ajar, just enough that she can keep an eye on Oliver for her own sanity.  “Well...he was anyway. He’s resting now.”

The doctor said to page him next time so he could talk to Oliver, to check for brain damage. It was a small blessing that he had seemed so normal the first time he woke up. But it hadn’t been the first time. It had been the third. Three times before he could open his eyes and have a conversation. 

It was a good sign.

“Of course you should come, Thea.”

“ _ But with everything that happened...Malcolm was a family friend and yet he did this to Oliver. You don’t know how much Mom blames herself- _ “

“He’ll be happy to see both of you.” Felicity resists a groan at the continuing guilt of the Queen family. She’d have thought they’d be thrilled he survived, but Moira had withdrawn as the police dug into Malcolm Merlyn and started to uncover his seedy plans for Starling City and the Glades.

It turns out Malcolm was the one behind the list and Felicity had no small part in turning over everything they had dug up since Oliver came home. It was a tangled web the police were still working through, but it painted a pretty colorful picture.

Oliver Queen, newly resurrected, was tortured for information his father may have revealed about Malcolm’s plan to destroy the Glades. That story was picked up by national newspapers with Oliver coming out looking like a hero. The public story released by representatives of A.R.G.U.S. claimed Oliver was assisting a deep cover F.B.I. team when he was kidnapped and tortured for hours by Malcolm.

The news painted him as a hero as it vilified the Merlyns. But the long-standing friendship between Malcolm and the Queens wasn’t unnoticed. People started to ask questions, especially of Moira, questions she didn’t want to answer.

Felicity was the one behind the entire electronic trail the police followed. She knows exactly what lead where. Moira was far from innocent in the affair, but Felicity doesn’t want to believe her to be a willing participant either.

She came forward as a key witness shortly after the story broke, claiming her involvement was for fear of her children’s lives, a fear clearly justified by Oliver’s condition. Perhaps Moira knew Felicity wasn’t convinced and that was why she stayed away from the hospital when Felicity was there. Or maybe she just couldn’t stand the sight of her son after he died.

“I’ll see you later, Thea.” Felicity sighs as she closes the phone.

She thinks Thea’s just afraid of losing the brother she just got back and that fear is keeping her from staying here. She’s dealt with a lot of loss in her life, so she guesses it’s understandable. Maybe.

“How are you holding up?”

Felicity glances at John, accepting a proffered coffee mug. “Been better. Shouldn’t you be down a couple floors with your wife?”

“Lyla’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about. We both are.”

The heat of the fresh coffee warms her hands through the paper. It almost burns in intensity, but Felicity’s too preoccupied with staring her sleeping soulmate. “Oliver’s alive. We brought him home. I couldn’t be better.”

“Felicity,” John warns, voice low as to be only heard by her. “You killed a man, almost killed two. No one expects you to be fine. Your mark-“

“My mark is fine,” she bites off before he can finish the sentence. She doesn’t want to think about her mark right now. No. All that matters is Oliver. He’s getting better. That has to be her main focus. “Anatoli offered to send some men to guard the hospital room.”

Digg scowls. “Please tell me you refused.”

Her huff of a laugh falls short of amusement. “I told him the only guard he needed was me...and Starling’s finest,” she gestures at the men in blue at either end of the hall.

“You also have Oliver’s regular security detail.”

“I’m well aware, Mr. Head-of-Security.” Felicity lets a smile slip out. “We’re protected. Still...” She runs a hand through her hair. “I can’t wait until we can take him home. We’ve been in the hospital too long.”

John snorts. “I’m sure he’ll agree with you. It’s actually a blessing he’s been asleep this long or the doc would be begging you to take him home.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Felicity smiles lovingly at Oliver’s unconscious form.

“Lis...”

Felicity’s back in the room as Oliver opens his eyes, her hand finding his unerringly. She perches on the edge of the bed, and John presses the call button to the side of the bed.

“Hey, I’m here,” she whispers. “You’re okay.”

“I think okay is a bit of a stretch,” he groans.

Felicity’s eyes land on the morphine drip. “I think we can give you a bit more...”

Oliver’s hand covers hers on the switch. “No more drugs.”

“But if you’re in pain-“

“I’ve been through worse.”

Felicity sighs. She can see the strain of his aches on him, in the lines of his skin. She can’t stand to see him like that. It’s not right. “Please,” she whispers. “For me.”

His hand falls from hers and he nods in tacit permission. 

“Thank you.” She can see in his eyes the moment the medicine takes effect. His body relaxes as the pain recedes.

“Because you asked.”

She smiles sadly at his statement. “How about next time, you don’t go out without back up?”

“Malcolm?” He asks, eyes darting to Digg at the question.

“Dead,” Felicity answers confidently.

He locks eyes with her.

“Floyd Lawton killed him,” she says in response to his unasked question. One more second and she would have shot him herself. He never said as much, but Felicity’s almost certain Lawton took the shot so she wouldn’t have to. They had stood shoulder to shoulder against Malcolm, but he had pulled the trigger first.

She doesn’t know how to explain it to Oliver, how to put that conviction into words. So much happened that Oliver doesn’t know and that she’s not about to tell him while he’s confined to a hospital bed. The nurses probably won’t be too understanding of his need to punch someone once her story’s over.

“How did you find me?”

Felicity stiffens at the question, not ready to reveal this secret, not yet.

“Anatoli,” John answers for her.

Felicity watches Oliver for his reaction. Disgust, hate: that’s what she expects to see in his eyes. But all she finds is resignation.

“What did you have to do?” Oliver’s gaze fixes on John and then back to Felicity when he doesn’t get an answer. “I know how favors work in the Bratva. What did you have to do?”

“A favor.” Felicity responds with a shrug. If she plays it off as nothing, maybe Anton’s death won’t weigh on her as much. Or rather, maybe it will start bothering her like it probably should. She’s losing more sleep over Oliver’s condition than the man she had to kill.

He freezes. Oh, he has a pretty good guess of what Anatoli wanted. Felicity’s not surprised: he was undercover with the Bratva for a year. He’s been through a lot and it really wouldn’t take that much to guess what had to happen.

“Please tell me you didn’t, John. Not for me,” Oliver croaks out, his eyes searching out the bodyguard.

Felicity winces. “John didn’t do anything.”

Oliver’s head jerks around in surprise, eyes wide in shock, but they’re interrupted by a round of doctors a second later.

She stays in the room through all the questions and tests, her hand clasped in his as she sits off to the side. Oliver keeps shooting her questioning looks, and she can see him picking apart the possibilities even as he answers the doctor’s questions.

“Well, everything’s looking good, Mr. Queen. You gave us quite the scare. It’s going to take a while before you can get back to normal.”

“Thank you, Doctor Harris.” Oliver smiles up at the woman.

Felicity thinks it’s a reprieve until the door closes and Oliver turns back to her. “Tell me everything.”

...

He keeps his mouth shut for all of it, intent on absorbing every word, every facial expression that’s just as telling as her words. The moments she glazes over are just as important as the ones she puts so much stock in.

Diggle’s reactions are just as important as Felicity’s. When she recounts her confrontation with Dimitri, the bodyguard rolls his eyes, but he’s relaxed. It’s not until she mentions feeling his pain that John stiffens.

Felicity, of course, makes it sound simple: she felt an echo of his pain, but pain meds helped. The twisted expression on Digg’s face tells a different story. It was far worse than she let on. If the amount of pain he felt was a meter to gauge hers, she must have been in agony.

She winces away from his reaction as she recaps what happened with Anatoli as quickly as possible. Or she tries to spit it out as quickly as possible, but she stumbles over the words. Her hands are shaking and he’s stuck in this damn bed while she avoids him across the room.

“Felicity,” he growls, finally getting her to look back at him in surprise. She’s waiting for his judgment, expectant of it. He doesn’t know what she expects him to say. He’s guilty of far worse for poorer reasons. “Come here.”

Her hesitation breaks his heart.

The clip to the heart monitor is the first he removes, sending off alerts in the form of an annoying tone. Next is the IV and he attempts to stand. His body’s on fire with new pain and his legs probably won’t hold him well, but he needs to hold her in his arms to assure her that it’s okay.

She races to his side. “What the hell did you think you’re doing? You can’t get out of bed!”

“You weren’t going to come here, so I had to go over there.” It’s infallible logic as far as Oliver is concerned. She wouldn’t come to him when he needed to offer her the comfort she clearly needed.

“Oliver.” Her voice is soft as she helps him into bed, careful of injuries that only slightly bother him at the moment. They’re nothing compared to the comfort of her touch.

“I don’t blame you, Felicity. You did what you had to, and I would do the same for you.” He cups her cheek to bring her eyes back to him. “I love you.”

It’s comical the way her eyes widen as she searches his face for the truth he knows is plainly written there. She’s not a cold-blooded killer. She’s a survivor, like him. The words weren’t supposed to slip out here, but she has to know how he feels about her.

“Oliver,” she whispers as nurses and doctors race into the room and surround them.

He nods solemnly, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “I love you.” 

She doesn’t believe it. Her mouth opens and closes as she struggles for words, something she’s ever really had a problem with before. No, this is new. 

Oliver bats away the doctors attempting to reattach the sensors, so he can focus on Felicity’s eyes as she processes what he told her. He can see the moment it sinks in and it just might be the happiest moment of his life when her lips for the words: “I love you.” 

Until the moment is broken when one of the medical staff, interrupts.

“Mr. Queen, we really need to reattach these monitors,” a nurse insists with an attempt to pull him bodily back into bed.

“I don’t need them,” Oliver responds over his shoulder.

“I have to insist, Mr. Queen. We need to monitor your vitals.

He twists back to the middle aged woman currently staring him down just as she’s no doubt confronted hundreds of patients over the years. “I’m fine. Can you just give us a moment?”

“I promise he won’t try to stand again, Margot. Just give us a couple minutes,” Felicity interjects with a polite smile.

Oliver tries to mirror it, to reassure the woman in front of them, but his smile is strained. He’s not exactly a fan of hospitals. Or people poking at him while he’s hurt. There are few people he trusts to look after him while he’s unconscious. There are two of them in the room and neither is the nurse.

With Felicity’s promise, Margot backs down slightly although she throws another glare in Oliver’s direction. Digg follows her out with a nod to Oliver.

The bed creaks as Oliver turns carefully back to Felicity, now studiously avoiding his gaze. She fidgets, rubbing her hands together nervously, her eyes fixed low on his side where his mark lies under his robe. He knows her well enough to know she’s struggling to deal with her strong emotions.

Her hand is soft in his as he guides it to the spot where mottled skin has long destroyed his mark. Her touch there soothes the pain better than any drug he’s gotten. The pain is more of dull ache now anyway.

A sob escapes her and Felicity’s hand presses further into his skin. Tears brim in her eyes, but as much as Oliver flounders for a reason, he can’t find one.

“Hey,” he whispers to grab her attention. His voice is gentle, unwilling to startle her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Without a word, she takes his hand and moves it to her waist, guiding it under her shirt to the soft skin underneath. He cups her side over the mark, but it feels different under his fingertips. The skin is raised instead of smooth as if...

His eyes widen in surprise and lift to Felicity’s with a question. With her nod, he lifts the edge of her shirt to look at her side where their mark was inked on her skin. Except it isn’t black.

The arrow on her side is a raised, red scar that appears tender to the touch. It’s warm under his fingers, the proof that he died and she felt the unbearable pain associated with it. His other hand flies to his own mark, but she stills him.

“Yours is still there.”

He takes her word for it, thumb running over her scarred mark like that could help him take the pain away. “How is that possible?”

She cups his cheek, this time being the one to maintain eye contact. “You died, Oliver. I didn’t so your mark is still there or as there as black ink can be under the scar tissue. Or that’s what the doctor said after Digg insisted they check me out too.” 

Her eyes drift down to his scar, a finger tracing the hints of black that remain of his mark. The contact sends a shiver up his spine.

“But…,” He frowns at the red outlines of her mark that used to be black. “I’m alive. Why is it still scarred?” 

The last thing she wants to do is talk about his death, about the burning, searing pain it caused her, how she felt lost and adrift, how she was hollow and unresponsive for hours, how that same numbness came and went for days on end. She still felt it sometimes, the harrowing feeling of loneliness like she was missing a limb. Her only comfort was sitting by Oliver’s bed, his physical presence a balm for her pain. She can’t feel him the way she did before, and it terrifies her. 

“You died,” she whispers quietly. “And it left it’s mark, in more ways than one.”

“You were hurt?” He looks her over for any visible injuries, but finds none.

“I was still dealing with your pain and...everything that happened. I was in shock, but having you here, alive...it helped. I’m just glad you’re gonna be okay.” Felicity runs her hands through his hair. It’s grown longer than usual and her nails just scrape along the base of his scalp. He shivers.

He leans into her touch, eyes fluttering closed even as his fingers correct her forever scarred mark. He should be more worried about all that lost time, but she’s here and that’s really all he needs to know. 

Oliver pulls her gently closer by his grip on her waist. “I’m serious. I don’t blame you for any of this, anything that happened.”

Felicity sighs, tilting his head back so she can look directly at him from where she stands between his legs. “I love you, too, you know. But I thought I lost you. I thought you were dead.”

Her voice shakes, tears spilling over. “If you had died it would have been for nothing.”

“I’m still here,” Oliver whispers, turning his head to press a kiss to the palm of her hand. “And I’m not going to leave.”

She sobs, completely closing the difference between them to wrap him in her arms. Her movement causes him faint discomfort, but it doesn’t matter because he pulls her into his lap and holds her as close as he possibly can. She melts into him pressing kisses to his cheek and neck before sealing her lips to his.

He shifts her closer into his arms, so there’s no part of her not touching him and vice versa. 

“Alright. Your time is up.”

Felicity pulls away from him at Marjory’s entrance, but Oliver just groans.

The nurse rolls her eyes as she pushes him back into bed. “Really, Mr. Queen? The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get back to making out with your soulmate. But first, you need to get your strength back. The physical therapist will be here in fifteen minutes.”

He leans back into the pillows. “Fine. But no more medicine.”

Marjory purses her lips in disapproval, but detaches the morphine drip. She glances back at Felicity. “You’ve got a stubborn one here.”

Oliver snorts. “I’m not the only one.”

The nurse laughs and shows him her first true grin. “No you’re not.”

...

**A Year Later**

“Oliver? What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” The guilty look he shoots her as he looks up from his cooking does nothing to ease Felicity’s inkling that something is up with him.

“What are you doing?” she repeats, rounding the counter into the kitchen with a speculative look.

“Making dinner.” He grins at her. “Is that a crime?”

“Well,” she sidles up to him and wraps her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “it’s highly suspicious when dinner involves expensive wine and candles.”

“Don’t forget Chicken Marsala with mint-chip lava cake for dessert.”

Felicity hums in appreciation of the food selection before she pulls away and hops up on the counter next to where he’s cooking. “So what’s the special occasion?”

“Does there have to be one?” He offers her the spoon to taste the sauce.

Felicity eyes him suspiciously, but moans at the taste of the sauce. Really, his food is downright sinful. She’s gained at least fifteen pounds in the last two weeks since Oliver started cooking regularly. Not to mention it’s completely devastating to her libido that such a good looking man can cook so well.

“Seriously, Oliver, what are we celebrating?”

“Arbor Day?”

Okay, she may be the blissful kind of in love that leaves Roy groaning every time he’s in the room with her and Oliver, but even she knows that’s a question, not an answer. “Oliver.”

He sighs and steps between her legs to kiss the tip of her nose. “Can’t I just make a beautiful dinner for my wonderful soulmate without an ulterior motive?”

Felicity wraps her arms around his neck to hold him in place as she pulls him in for a longer, more satisfying kiss. Ever since she’s got him back, the touching has been almost constant, on both their parts. Neither of them could stand to be out of the other’s sight for too long, as frustrating as that might be to everyone around them.

Sure, they spent time apart during the day – Felicity did have a job to do – but if they had free time they were together. Despite her worries that what happened with the Bratva would push him away, Oliver was more attentive. Both of them were overly conscious of how close they came to losing each other and devoted to never going through that again.

“Something’s up, Oliver Queen, and I will figure out what it is,” she declares once she pulls away for air. “You can’t distract me with your kisses.”

Her breathlessness detracts from the severity of the statement, especially once she catches the mischievous look in Oliver’s eyes.

“Oh, really?” He asks against her lips. He yanks her closer to the edge of the counter as he simultaneously presses forward so their bodies are touching completely from the waist up. “I think I can find  _ something _ to preoccupy you.”

Felicity wiggles against him. She grins at the groan she receives before Oliver’s mouth crashes into hers.

His lips aren’t desperate in their intensity despite how the kiss started. They’re methodical, slowly undoing her with little presses as Oliver takes his time. An impatient whine escapes her as he leans back, a smug teasing grin on his face.

But, oh, no, she is not going to let him get away with that!

She curls her hand into his shirt and yanks Oliver back to her. His fingertips dig into her hips to still keep her from getting the friction she wants. Felicity retaliates with a nip to his bottom lip, his answering growl sending heat straight to her core. 

Her lust intensified, Felicity runs her hands over his still-clothed chest and tugs at his shirt. Really, clothes at this point are superfluous in her opinion.

“Felicity,” Oliver groans, leaning back. “Dinner.”

Despite his protests, he lets Felicity pull him back in. She’s on the verge of convincing him – via her lips, of course – that they should postpone dinner altogether in favor of burning some more calories.

“Nope. Dinner,” Oliver announces, stepping back as his hands slide down her arm to clench her hand, the only parts of their body touching.

_ Brrrrrrriiiiiing. _

Her head jerks around to the green burner phone on the counter.

“Ignore it,” Oliver prompts as he helps her from the counter. “It can’t be that important. I’m sure it’s something we can get to after dinner.”

Felicity shoots him a quelling look. “Quentin only calls when it’s an emergency, Oliver. I don’t think he’ll accept ‘sorry, I had to have a suspiciously fancy dinner with my soulmate’ as a valid excuse.”

He groans as Felicity lunges across the counter to grab the Arrow phone from its resting place. “Detective.”

She furrows her brow at Oliver’s resigned sigh as he starts to cool down all the food he made for dinner.

_ “Miss Smoak, I hope I’m not interrupting something.”  _

Oh, he’s interrupting something. She’s not sure what it is yet, but she knows he’s interrupting. And Oliver’s pouting about whatever it is. But even if she tells him that, it won’t change the urgency of Lance’s call. The man doesn’t ask for help often, but when he does it’s always important, without a doubt. So she really can’t rationalize saying anything other than, “What’s going on, Detective?”

“ _ Groups of teenagers have been kidnapped in the Glades. Runaways, so no one realized it was connected until recently when they became more daring. Last week they took three kids on their way home in the wee hours of the morning. Last night all three of them were found dead by the docks. And two more were just reported kidnapped. The police haven’t gotten any headway, figured your man in green was our best option to bring these kids home alive. _ ”

Now that’s a tough pill for Lance to swallow. He doesn’t like to admit needing help, even after the Green Arrow saved his life four months ago. Felicity sees a kindred spirit in Quentin: he wants justice and he can’t stand a mystery.

A month after he was saved, he connected a couple of the Green Arrow’s gadgets to similar inventions within the Queen Consolidated Applied Sciences department. Of course, those projects had long since been terminated, and the only reason he had successfully tracked it to her was because she had been a little distracted with the imminent threat to Oliver’s and Diggle’s lives when they were out in the field a couple nights before.

If Lance hadn’t been looking, no one would have caught her.

“No leads?” Felicity asks, following Oliver to the door. She slips into the jacket he holds out for her.

“ _ No. I’ll meet our friend in 30 minutes in our usual place with the files _ .”

“Thank you, Detective.” Felicity hangs up. With a deep breath, she locks eyes with Oliver. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can stay, if you want.”

Oliver contemplates her for a moment for taking her hands in his. His thumbs rub circles over her knuckles. “Felicity, we both know Lance wouldn’t call if it wasn’t dire. We can do this later, promise.” He lifts her hands and kisses them.

“I’m sorry for ruining your plan, whatever it is.” She’s not giving up on this mystery. They just have a bigger one to unravel first. 

...

“I thought we were taking tonight off.”

Oliver glares at Digg his seat on the med table. If it was his choice, he wouldn’t be here at all. He would be having dinner with the love of his life. He’d planned it all out: the dinner, the dessert, his proposal. “We probably didn’t need to drag you away from your wife and child.”

Diggle scoffs. “If you didn’t, you’d have more than just a graze.”

“Plus, thanks to us, six teenagers are happily home tonight,” Felicity announces, tossing the burner phone she had just used to call Lance on her computer desk. “Or not-so-happily considering some of them are going straight into the system. But that kidnapping ring is as good as shut down. For now at least, we should probably keep an eye out for any resurgences. After all, a human trafficking ring seems like it would take more than one night to take down.”

“But for tonight, we’re done.” Oliver hops from the table. The stitches pull at his arm, causing a twinge of discomfort. But the pain is too trivial to distract him from his original purpose of tonight.

Felicity carefully shuts down her computers one at a time. Oliver can’t drag his eyes from her as she moves around the Foundry with ease and grace. He’s been doing that more and more: just staring, captivated by every move she makes.

“I’m sorry this ruined your plans,” Digg whispers with a clap on Oliver’s back.

Oliver’s hand goes to the ring in his pocket, his mother’s ring he’s been walking around with for the last three months. At first he was hoping the right moment would happen spontaneously and he would just know. Then he had started planning. But his plan went up in smoke tonight with Lance’s call.

Yet, in this moment, it doesn’t seem so bad. He can make her favorite soufflé any time, and maybe putting the ring in her dessert wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t resist the chance. She loved his soufflé. Her moan the first time she tasted it had led to a some R-rated activities he wouldn’t mind repeating.

“You sure you’re okay?” Felicity asks, running a hand up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck.

He grins at her. “Fine.” He turns to kiss her wrist with a promise in his eyes. “Let’s head home.”

Felicity hums contentedly. “Home. Sounds divine.”

“Mmmm.” He leans in to press the next kiss to her lips. “Divine.”

“Alright, lovebirds. Save it for the nest.” Digg rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Oliver pulls away from Felicity reluctantly, while his arms stays wrapped around her waist. “Tomorrow.”

As soon as John retreats up the steps, Oliver spins them to press Felicity up against a concrete pillar. Her squeak of surprise is covered by his fevered kiss. His love for this amazing woman rises with barely a thought, overwhelming his senses until he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her senseless.

Precious seconds tick by as she overcomes her shock. It’s the tiny nip on her lower lip that brings her back to the present, and she kisses him back with equal fervor, her hands running over his shoulders and squeezing his biceps before running over his bare chest.  

_ Grrrrrrrrr. _

As one they freeze at the sound.

Oliver pulls back with an amused smirk that defies his attempts to suppress it. “Was that...”

Felicity’s stomach growls again. Her face flushes bright red and she buries her face in his chest as a laugh rumbles through his chest. God, she’s adorable.

“Come on,” he whispers into her ear. “Give me a minute to get changed and we’ll go get dinner.”

A frustrated groan slips out of her, but she nods against his chest. Gently, he guides her back to lean against the pillar to the sound of another growl. They should probably keep more snacks down in the Foundry for late nights.

Oliver grins at her pout and drops a kiss on her cheek. “Just one minute and then we can go to Big Belly.”

It takes far more strength than he thought it would to walk away from her, even if it was just to pull on a shirt and change his pants. He would change in the middle of the Foundry, but he needs some distance from Felicity to calm down enough to be presentable in public. 

“Big Belly? But you were making dinner,” she calls through the bathroom door.

Oliver shrugs, unable to describe how the thought struck his fancy out of nowhere. He suddenly wanted it to be just them going about their normal lives. He wanted to sit across from her at a booth in Big Belly, letting her steal his French fries and taking sips from her milkshake. Somehow, it seems a more fitting end of their day than chicken marsala, red wine, and a soufflé.

“I just feel the need for a burger,” he says instead of everything in his mind. He re-enters the open expanse of the lair. “It’s been too long since we enjoyed a quiet meal, just the two of us.”

Felicity hmmms in agreement as Oliver tucks her under his arm and they walk in tandem toward the stairs. “I just feel bad. You worked so hard on dinner.”

“We can have it tomorrow. We’re both hungry and Big Belly will be faster.”

Felicity groans. “You know, between your cooking and all this greasy food, I’m going to gain so much weight. I thought you were trying to get me to eat healthily.”

Oliver chuckles. “One night of burgers won’t hurt.”

“Well, as long as you say so,” she teases.

...

He didn’t need the perfect dinner, or the ideal moment. He didn’t need to prepare for months in advance to create the perfect romantic atmosphere. There was no grand gesture he had to orchestrate to tell a romantic tale.

He had wanted to do all that because he knew she had her doubts. Since her mark had scarred over, Felicity had worried about what it meant for them. For every reassurance he offered, she found another doubt. It had taken three months for him to convince her he still loved her, and another six to prove that they were still soulmates, that he didn’t care that she killed a man, that her scarred over mark did nothing to diminish their connection. 

The rumors floating around the gossip rags and his mother’s insistence that they mingle in polite society didn’t help matters. 

Felicity hums as she dips a stolen French fry into her chocolate milkshake. “You know,” she mutters between bites, “we could probably use some more equipment in the lair. There are a couple programs I’ve been working on, but they’ll require a bit of a bigger server. Plus, I think someone’s starting to notice our presence on the satellite.

“Too bad we can’t have our own of those...”

“What if we could?” Oliver smirks at Felicity’s wide-eyed delight.

“Really?! Could we?”

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. He wasn’t immune to her tech talk – hell, it was a turn-on he didn’t know he had until he met Felicity – and he knew it would make their after-hours work easier.

“You want a satellite, you’ve got one.”

She shakes her head at him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? There’s no way you’d be able to get us a satellite.”

Oliver snatches her hand before she manages to steal another French fry. “I’m serious, Felicity.”

“Oliver, I can’t ask you buy me a satellite.” 

“Good thing you’re not asking.”

“It’s too much,” she reprimands.

When he opens his mouth to argue, Felicity uses the moment to snatch another fry and dip it zealously into her milkshake. Perhaps she’s a little overexcited because as she lifts the fry to her mouth, the milky residue of chocolate ice cream slides off the end of her fry to drop in a splotch on her pink dress.

“Frack.” Felicity drops the fry to dab at the drop. “I swear I’m such a mess. I can’t go anywhere. This is why I refuse to let you take me to any fancy restaurants. I’m a walking accident ready to happen.”

It’s not nearly as bad as she makes it out to be. It’s like her babbling: it gets worse when she’s nervous. She’s incredibly well put-together most of the time. It’s mainly just his mother who upsets her.

“I’m pretty sure your mother thinks I’m the clumsiest person in the world, especially after that incident with the split pea soup. Maybe I’m cursed or something. Nothing like this ever happens at home. Except that one time with the chocolate syrup-“

Except the chocolate syrup wasn’t an accident. That had been very much intentional on his part and he had enjoyed licking it off.

“Marry me.”

Felicity frowns, cut off mid-rant. “What?”

He blinks. Those words were uttered aloud. And since the cat’s out of the bag he commits to the decision. This isn’t how he planned it, or even how he would pick the moment, but here in the simplicity of this moment, his love for her is unquestioned and all-consuming.

“Felicity Smoak,” he pulls the ring from his pocket as he talks. Oh, the fit his mother will have when she finds out where he proposed using her ring. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”

Her mouth falls open, napkin slipping out of her grasp, forgotten. “Oliver...”

He can feel eyes on them, more specifically on the piece of jewelry in his hand. His old knee injury twinges as he kneels beside their table. “Will you marry me?”

Felicity nods vigorously, slipping out of the booth to kneel before him. Her face is taken up by a bright smile as he slips his mother’s ring on her finger to the applause of the patrons of Big Belly Burger.

They kiss right there, kneeling on the less-than-clean floor of Big Belly Burger. Oliver couldn’t care less. Nothing could infringe on his happiness as he pulls Felicity to her feet and kisses her again through cheers and jeers telling them to get a room.

She pulls away faintly pink as her thumb caresses his bottom lip. “Big Belly Burger? Really?”

He chuckles. “Well, my other plan got interrupted, and I didn’t want to wait one more day before calling you my fiancé.”

“Mmmm. Fiancé. I like the sound of that.” Felicity smiles, her eyes drifting down to the ring again.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He only has eyes for her: the love in her eyes, the way her hand runs up his arm, the way the light catches on her ring.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Felicity suggests, her voice leaving no doubt for what’s about to happen next, as soon as they get away from prying eyes.

“You have the best ideas,” he murmurs against her lips, stealing another kiss. He drops cash on the table, nodding to Carly Diggle as he leads Felicity from the diner to catcalls and whistling.

“I  _ am _ a genius.” She boasts with a flirty smile thrown over her shoulder. 

Overwhelmed with love for the remarkable woman in front of him, Oliver hurries them to his car, unbothered to even unlock it before he presses her against the side and proceeds to kiss her senseless, caressing her until they’re both breathless. When they part for much needed air, he leans his forehead on hers. “And you can consider the satellite a wedding present.”

Her bubbling laughter brightens his day, and Oliver vows to spend the rest of his life making her as happy as she is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes my final chapter! A happy ending despite the last two terrible cliffhangers! I hope you guys have all enjoyed this wonderful little brain-child of mine. Your comments and reactions meant the world to me. Thank you so much for all your support!

**Author's Note:**

> And if you feel so inclined, you can find me on Tumblr: 
> 
> Username: writewithurheart  
> blog: War Against Reality


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